I'd Burn This World For You
by Azure-Kun
Summary: Cold winds are rising as winter approaches Westeros like a vengeful beast. The Seven Kingdoms are on the verge of war and the fate of the world lay on the shoulders of two whose souls have been entwined since birth. Dragons and wolves shall rise once more and the vengeance that follows will tear the realm asunder.
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

** (Arya x Jon AU) There's lots of action and adventure with a slice of romance.  
**

**There is nothing more beautiful to me than your smile... no sound sweeter than your laughter... no pleasure greater than holding you in my arms. I realize now at the end of my days that I could never truly live without you, stubborn little wolf that you are. In this life and the next, you're my only hope of happiness. Tell me, Arya, my dearest love... how can you have reached so far inside my heart?**

**I'd Burn This World For you**

**Chapter 1**

* * *

**Prologue**

Dusk slowly settled over the north, the day had been clouded and cold. Snow had started to fall lightly now. Arya could feel the flakes on her face, melting as they touched her skin. She grabbed an arrow from the quiver Jon held out for her and thanked him. She notched the arrow to the bowstring and drew. The circle-shaped target was twenty feet away from where they stood in the courtyard of Winterfell. Jon had promised her he would teach her how to use a bow properly, with all his fifteen-year-old wisdom. And here they were now practicing, with snow falling around them.

"Relax your bow arm," Jon said, tapping on her shoulder.

Arya focused, and held the draw a long moment as she tried to aim, then let loose. The shaft went slightly too high and missed the target, but only just. "Damn it," she mumbled, and turned back to Jon. Frowning, she stubbornly gestured for another arrow. "Don't you laugh." She glared at him, until his grin faded into a warm smile that always seemed to melt her heart. Arya grabbed one more arrow from the quiver, notched it to her bow, drew, and released. She did it quickly, without squinting along the shaft as she had many times before. The arrow struck the target dead in the center. "I _hit_ it." Arya sounded ecstatic. "Jon, did you see? _Look,_ I hit it in the center."

"That you did," he said, praising her with nods.

Turning her body, she looked up at him and said, "Next time, teach me how to use a sword!" Arya looked into his grey eyes that were so dark they seemed black. "_Please?_ I'm already twelve."

He smiled at her. "Swords are a shade more exhausting than archery, little wolf."

"A shade more fun than archery," Arya replied, puffing her cheeks. Jon grinned, reached over, and messed up her hair. Arya blushed. They had always been close. Jon had their father's face, as she did. They were the only ones. Robb and Sansa and Bran and even little Rickon all took after the Tullys, with easy smiles and fire in their hair.

The late summer snows had been heavy this moonturn. Arya looked up at the darkened sky; the snow was starting to fall heavier. She frowned. There was a strange beauty to it all though, the way the snow fell over Winterfell, enveloping the whole castle with layers of white snow. _Winter is coming, _she thought, glancing back at Jon. "It's cold," she admitted, and shoved her hands into her armpits. The icy northern wind tugged at her fur cloak. Arya would have worn more clothing, but she knew it would hinder her movements, and she wouldn't have that, not when he was teaching her the proper way to use a bow.

"Winter is coming, little wolf," he said, resting his hand on her shoulder. "I'll gather the arrows. Then let's head inside, where it's warmer." He looked her up and down. "I don't want you catching a cold. Robb would have my head on a spike," he chuckled awkwardly, averting his gaze and turning toward the target.

Patches of snow crunched beneath his feet as he made his way to the arrow dented target, his breath steamed before him like a banner. He had snow in his dark brown hair, melting from the heat of his body. Arya watched him keenly, something tugged at her heart, strange feelings that she'd been feeling for weeks. She studied his cloaked back. Jon and Robb were of the same age, but they did not look alike. Jon was slender where Robb was muscular, dark where Robb was fair, graceful and quick where Jon was strong and fast. In that moment, the coldness and icy winds disappeared. Arya wanted to be held by those strong arms and feel his warmth.

Blushing, she shook her head, trying to force the thoughts out. Arya sighed. Over the past few weeks, the thoughts had started to become something less then innocent, and what scared her true was that she didn't mind, even though she knew it was wrong. _Something's wrong with me… _she thought, watching him pluck the arrows out of the target and stone wall that stood behind.

Jon returned, his breaths still steaming. He attached the quiver to his belt. "Ghost, to me," he called out suddenly. The albino direwolf with blood-red eyes, already larger than its litter mates, came padding out from behind the broken tower, followed closely by Nymeria, her own direwolf. Jon ruffled the snow-white fur between Ghost's ears and said, "Nice wolf."

Nymeria bounded to Arya's feet, and nipped eagerly at her gloved hand as Arya caressed the direwolf's soft neck. The she-wolf had yellow eyes, and when they caught the sunlight, they gleamed like two golden coins. "What were you two doing?" she asked, kneeling and cuddling the wolfling tight. The direwolf answered by tilting its head sideways. Arya giggled and cuddled her some more, the warmth comforting.

"They're pretty close," Jon asked, looking at her, "don't you think?"

They were, seldom did Arya ever see the two direwolves apart. All six of the litter mates were really close, but it seemed Ghost and Nymeria had a deeper bond. Just like her bond with Jon. "They are," Arya replied, nodding. "…Just like us." She added, then blushed at her own words, averting away from his gaze.

His arm extended. "Come now." Jon smiled at her, gesturing with his hand. "Let's head inside and get warm. Most would think us crazy, standing around in the snow like this." He laughed, and helped her back up.

They walked silently side by side, followed closely by the wolflings. They headed toward the stone stairs that were located next to the guard hall that would lead them to the covered bridge that connected the Armory to the Great Keep. From a window on the covered bridge, one could see the entire yard. It was a short walk to the guard hall. They climbed the stairs which had a soft layer of snow covering each step. Halfway through the bridge, Arya stopped and looked out from one of the windows. The yard was quiet and empty. A lone sentry stood high on the battlements of the inner wall, his fur cloak pulled tight around him. He looked bored and miserable as he huddled there alone, trying to fight off the coldness.

Without realizing, she was already lost in her thoughts. Arya wondered how it would feel to embrace him, to feel his warmth. Seldom did Jon ever appear to be cold, his skin always warm to the touch, even when the iciest northern winds assaulted Winterfell. Would it be like when she held Nymeria? She didn't know, but she wanted to find out. For many weeks, whenever she saw him, all she could think about was how it would feel to kiss those soft lips that seemed to call to her. _I'm disgusting, _she thought, only… she didn't feel disgusting. Arya didn't know what to feel anymore, it was wrong, so wrong and she knew it… yet… why did it feel so right?

"Something's bothering you?" Jon asked, taping her shoulder lightly. "What's wrong, little wolf?"

She exhaled, and watched her steaming breath dance in the cold air. She didn't turn to face him, in _fear_ he would notice her blush. Arya bit her bottom lip. She always loved it when he called her that_. _When Arya had been little, she had many nightmares that would scare her awake. It had been Jon she had gone to in her fear, and Jon who had reassured her and called her _little wolf_ every time. It became their little thing. The memory warmed her deeply. "Nothing." she told him, shaking her head. "It's just." Arya paused, her heart fluttering in her chest. "It's, it's… just, I…" she said, her breath catching in her throat. Swallowing nervously, she opened her mouth to say something, anything. Should she tell him her feelings? Arya didn't know.

Jon looked at her with a confused expression. "You can tell me." He reassured her in a soft voice. "What's wrong?" He stepped closer and pressed his warm fingers under her chin and gently turned her so she would face him. Arya glanced up shyly. His face had grown as still as the pool at the heart of the godswood.

Tears welled up in her eyes. She wanted to run, it was much to bear. Jon's eyes pierced straight through her defences, stripping everything away. Her fears were dispersing and that's what scared her the most. She knew if she stayed on the bridge any longer, she would confess everything, and all Arya could think about was the look of shock and horror that would envelop his face at the sudden knowledge that his younger sister had feelings that she shouldn't have, feelings that would most likely destroy their special bond.

Nymeria nuzzled at her gloved hand, the wolfling seemed to sense her anxiety. Arya trembled, she didn't know whether it was from the cold or the fact that Jon's fingers had moved up to her cheek, and were caressing the tears away.

"What's wrong?" Jon asked, worry deep in his grey eyes.

The warmth of his fingers, against her cold, tear-stained cheek made her bite her lip unintentionally. Both their steaming breaths entwined and danced a dance that made her heart tighten. _I love him,_ she admitted to herself. Arya panicked and suddenly pushed past him. Her mind was racing, she loved him like a woman loves a man, and the realization scared her. She felt Jon grab her arm and swing her back toward him. Then gently he pushed her up against the wall of the covered bridge.

Trying to catch her breath, she glanced up and saw Jon's wary face gazing back down at her. His dark grey eyes glimmered for a moment and Arya could have sworn they turned a deep shade of lilac. He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her tight. Arya didn't fight the embrace, though she stood rigid at first. Then the tension melted away from her body as she lowered her head onto his chest, not caring if anyone saw. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into his furs. _How can anyone be this warm, _she thought_,_ feeling the warmth resonating from his body into his furs, _in such coldness?_

Fears that once dwelled within her, all but disappeared in that moment. "Jon," she said softly, moving her head back to look up, "I have something to tell you. I think I'm in love—"

Jon brought his hand up and put it gently but firmly over Arya's lips. "I know. I think, I've always known and that scared me," he admitted. "It's wrong… so wrong."

Arya reached up and wrapped her delicate fingers around the warm hand resting on her lips, then softly pulled it down. "So wrong," she echoed. Arya never felt this helpless before. Deep inside she knew she shouldn't, he was her brother after all, her blood. Her resolve was breaking.

"But… it_ feels_ so right." They both whispered at the same time as Jon tilted his head downwards.

Arya's heart pounded against her chest, her cheeks burnt like wildfire. She stretched up on her toes to reach his lips. "Are you sure?" she whispered as her lips hovered over his. "I'm not beautiful like Sansa. I can't stitch or dance or sing." Arya didn't know why she was admitting all these things to him, and of all times. "…I'm _ugly._" Tears rolled down her cheeks. "My hair is dull and my face is too long. Jeyne always calls me Arya Horseface… and, and—"

Jon silenced her by kissing her lower lip. The softest kiss she ever felt. She had just enough time to take in a breath, to blink, and part her lips before he took them fiercely with his own. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she moaned into his mouth. _Seven hells,_ Arya thought. There was a fierceness in his kiss, a desperation... and she answered, just as hungry for him. She moved her hands up to the back of his neck and pulled him closer, and kissed him as fiercely as he was kissing her. Arya couldn't think straight anymore, her senses were going wild.

Everything she knew about kissing, and everything she told herself she would do when the time came, fled from her mind like water crashing through a broken dam. There was only primal instinct left. His tongue was relentless, searching for a way in. Arya resisted at first, using her own tongue to fight off his, but after minutes of intense fighting, she slowly gave in to him and parted her lips. _This is so wrong, so wrong, _she thought, feeling his wet tongue enter, _oh gods... so wrong. _

The sensation of his tongue on hers made her tremble. Every part of her mouth was being explored and caressed. Never before did she imagine that kissing could feel this good. Arya loved every moment of it. She loved the fact Jon was being so gentle with her and the fact that he seemed to share the same feelings as her. Arya had many sleepless nights wondering why she felt the way she did and how Jon would react when or if he found out. None of that mattered anymore though, he knew her feelings and she knew his.

How long they kissed for, Arya didn't know. Time seemed to slow down all around her. Nothing else mattered in that moment, just Jon, always Jon. Blood or not she loved him all the same, even if the world denied them, she would fight tooth and nail for him and she knew he would do the same for her.

Managing to force his tongue out, she softly bit his bottom lip and pulled her head back, breaking from the embrace, a single string of saliva still linked them. Arya breathed heavily and gazed into his eyes. She seldom felt this out of breath.

The look he gave her, made her tremble. She felt wetness between her thighs. Jon brought his other hand up and rested it on her cheek. "You're _beautiful_ Arya," he told her, resting his forehead against hers. "You've always been, and always will be."

Surprised, Arya stepped backward and felt the wall on her back. _Beautiful… me? _She thought abashed. No one had ever told her she was beautiful apart from her father, and her mother only ever said she _could _be, if she acted more like a lady. She gazed into his eyes and searched for any signs of deception. Only… she saw none. _He really thinks I'm beautiful. _The thought made her blush fiercely. "You're an idiot, you know that," Arya scolded him suddenly. "What if someone saw!" she said in a hushed voice and glanced around. "We're siblings you know? If someone saw us…" She averted away from his unyielding gaze, fending off another blush. Glancing down she noticed the two direwolves had lain down next to each other and were regarding them silently with their unnaturally beautiful eyes.

"I don't care about that," Jon told her. "I love you Arya and I don't regret it." He smiled at her wholeheartedly. "Not one bit."

"I-I don't as well," she admitted shyly, being honest.

"Only sentries will be out at this hour, most like." Jon walked to the nearest window and gazed out. "I don't think anyone saw us…" He turned back to her. "Anyway, let's head back inside. I wouldn't want my precious wolf getting frostbite."

Arya nodded, she had almost forgotten the cold. "I'm going to my room. With the training and _everything_ else… that happened, I feel tired." She lied to him; energy and lust was surging through her. "I'll see you on the morrow at breakfast." Arya turned toward the Great keep and bolted through the covered bridge, Jon called out to her but she kept running nevertheless. Nymeria bounded after her. They headed into the keep and to the spiral stone stairs that would lead them to her bedchamber.

Entering the warm room she closed the door and collapsed backward, sliding down the large oak door. She brought her knees up to her chin. Her heart was fluttering in her chest and all she could think about was his embrace. _I love you, _Jon had told her. Just thinking about it made her grin. Arya brought her fingers to her lips and pressed lightly, the warmth of his lips still fresh in her memory. For the second time today she felt warm wetness run down her thighs. "Jon," she murmured, closing her eyes and imagining him holding her once more.

Of all the rooms Winterfell's Great Keep, Arya's bedchamber was one of the warmest. It was comforting but also started to make her sweat. "Damn it," she mumbled. Arya stood back up and removed her fur cloak and excess clothing. The castle had been built over natural hot springs, and the scalding waters rushed through its walls and chambers like blood through a man's body, driving the chill from the stone halls and rooms. The baths were always hot and steaming, and the walls around the castle warm to the touch.

Only her linen smallclothes and thin wool stockings remained. Arya glanced at the bed; Nymeria had curled up beside it on the bundle of blankets she had put on the floor for her. Arya stretched and walked to the bed, being careful not to disturb the tired wolfling. Climbing onto the soft furs, she gazed at the stone ceiling. _Jon, _she thought, drawing circles around her navel. It still felt surreal; she didn't expect her first kiss to be so… _wet_.

The tingly sensation between her thighs was growing more intense. Arya wanted him beside her, inside her, so much so that it hurt, the feeling was unbearable. Jon had burned all her fears right out of her, until all that was left was desire. _What have you done to me? _She thought, sliding her hand underneath her smallclothes to find the sweet wet place beneath the thin layer of curly black hair. Arya moaned, grazing over her mound. Gently at first, she began to caress herself thoroughly; tracing and spreading her moist lips. Harder and faster she rubbed, moaning in the process. Pulses of pleasure spread to every inch of her body making her tremble in delight. Turning onto her side she fumbled for the extra pillow and put it next to her head, burying her face into it, in an attempt to muffle the sounds she was making.

With every inhale and exhale, she felt her nipples rub against the linen, causing them to stiffen and ache. Never had they been this hard and sensitive before. With her free hand, she slid it underneath the linen and found her small and pointed right breast. Arya stroked the soft skin until it tingled, circled her nipple with her forefinger, pinched and pulled at it until it was much too painful to touch. Breathing hard she went for her left breast and did the same, moaning all the more as her breast and mound were being pleasured intensely.

All she could think about was Jon and how it would feel to have him inside of her. She made a whimpering sound and arched her back as she put her forefinger inside herself, moaning his name repeatedly the deeper she went. Arya didn't fear for her maiden's blood as her maidenhead had already been broken some time back. After her lord father had begun teaching her to ride horses, she had been galloping around winter town with her brothers and after dismounting back in Winterfell after an afternoon of adventure, she had noticed blood seeping through her riding breeches. In her fear she had run to Jon first, sobbing and begging for help. It had taken him an hour to calm her down and make her realize she wasn't going to die.

The sudden memories made her chuckle and bite her lip lustily as her finger went deeper inside. Jon was always there for her, no matter the reason. Always looking out for her and playing her stupid games: monsters-and-maidens and hide-the-treasure and come-into-my-castle; they played them all. Perhaps it had been then, when she started to develop these feelings for him, when they had pretended to be betrothed or married. But thinking about it now, Arya remembered his subtle blushes and the awkward way he would always hold her, though they only ever went as far as to kiss each other's cheeks.

_"I've always known and that scared me," _Jon had told her. It all made sense now, they were meant for each other, and it didn't matter that they were siblings. _Targaryen's wed brother to sister for centuries, _Arya thought, pushing her finger in as deep as she could. Arya could scarce think anymore; she brought the hand on her teat down toward her overflowing slit and began caressing the little sensitive spot that would always make her moan fiercely whenever she rubbed it.

The pressure inside was building. With every stroke she felt herself nearer. Arya had seldom ever reached this point whenever she played with herself. It felt like she had to _pee_. "_Yes_," she repeated, moaning into the pillow. "Yes… _seven hells_! Yes!" She bit her bottom lip hard, her body was trembling furiously. She was close, so very close. Arya pulled her finger glistened with her juices out and quickly brought it up to her left breast and pinched her nipple hard. "Jon!" she screamed, the pillow muffling most of the sound. She felt herself gush uncontrollably. Raw pleasure pulsated to every corner of her body, causing her to curl her toes and fingers and arch her back.

Breathing heavily, she brought her hands out of her smallclothes and wiped the wetness away on the furs. She was much too tired to move or care. Her thighs were drenched with her juices; no doubt the fur blankets beneath were also soiled. Arya closed her eyes and sighed. She would deal with the mess later, for now though, she wanted to relax and get lost in the fleeting sensations.

Sleep had never felt as good as it did that night.

Morning came sooner then she would have liked. Arya was tired, she had gotten up before dawn and changed her soiled smallclothes and fur blankets, leaving the unkempt pile in the corner of her room. She had also thought up a lie to tell if anyone should ask about why they had gotten so dirty.

Reluctantly she rolled onto her side and sat up, stretching. Throwing her legs over the edge she got up inhaling deeply. The morning light was already peeking through the closed window and Arya knew it was almost time for breakfast. She walked to the small basin near the window and splashed cool water onto her face. Turning, she made her way back to the large ironwood chest that was at the foot of her bed. Silks and satins and velvets cluttered the chest, most of which she didn't wear unless her lady mother forced her to. Fumbling through the mess she found a pair of grey and white colored tunic and breeches. The emblem of their house embroidered onto the breast of the tunic. Arya donned the clothes swiftly and made for the exit with Nymeria following closely behind.

The Great Hall of Winterfell was where they mostly ate. Arya entered the hall and combed her hair with her fingers. The air was heavy with the smell of roasted meat and freshly baked bread. The grey walls were draped with the banners of their house. The hall was packed with people as it always was at breakfast and dinner. Her siblings and lord father sat on the raised platform near the south wall. Next to Sansa who at thirteen was already a beauty with all her mother's features sat Beth Cassel and Jeyne Poole who were so absorbed in their own conversations that they didn't pay Arya any mind.

Sir Rodrik Cassel and his nephew Jory the Captain of the Guards sat farther down at one of the many other tables, they were conversing with Septa Mordane and Maester Luwin, Arya couldn't quite hear what they were talking about, not that she really cared. Near them sat Vayon Poole, their lord fathers ward Theon Greyjoy, Hallis Mollen and a score of guardsmen, some she knew by name, most by face.

The hall was alive with laughter and conversations. One would soon forget the coldness outside after dinning in the Great Hall, it was always warm and the food tasted great. Arya loved nothing better than sit at her father's table and listen to them talk. She loved listening to the men on the benches too; to freeriders tough as leather, courtly knights and bold young squires and grizzled old men-at-arms. She would always listen keenly to their stories and adventures.

But today was different. Her heart began to pound against her chest, she was anxious. Approaching her siblings, Arya could hardly look Jon in the eye. Whenever she did, either he would look away or she would. All she could think about was their kiss and what she had done in her room after. The feelings were still fresh in her memory and it made her blush.

"Little sister," Robb called out, gesturing with a knife in his hand. "Come, we've saved you a seat."

And that they did, right between Jon and Robb. Arya frowned and nervously walked around the table toward her seat, she could see the redness of Jon's cheeks and the way he looked at her, the way a man would look at a woman and want her in his bed. _Idiot, _she thought, sitting down next to him and kicking his leg. Jon chuckled and messed up her hair, causing her to blush even more.

"I was beginning to wonder if you would show up," Lord Eddard Stark said, half smiling at her. "Eat, you're much too skinny." He shook his head, looked her over and sighed. "You're already twelve and you still dress in tunics and breeches... wouldn't you rather dress like Sansa?"

Arya frowned and glared at her father. "You can't ride in a gown or swordfight," she said, grabbing the fresh bread and putting it on her plate, followed by a piece of honeyed chicken and some turnip salad. Jon poured her a glass of water and when their hands touched, he had almost dropped the cup. She was afraid their awkwardness would draw attention and people would ask them what's wrong.

She sighed, what she would give for a cup of wine now to calm her nerves. It seemed Jon needed wine as well as he blushed like a maid whenever there eyes met. Though only on special occasions did their lord father permit each of them a glass of wine, but no more than that. Some she liked, the sweetened ones were the best, preferably with honey.

"Arya, Arya, Arya," her father said, "what am I to do with you? Septa Mordane tells me you've been skipping her lessons."

She did and often, little did she care about needlework and _being_ a lady. Everything time they sat and stitched Arya would hear the boys practicing in the courtyard and yearned to be there with them, sword in hand. "I don't care about stitching! I would rather train with Jon and Robb." She bit furiously into the bread and chewed. _Why can't he understand me, _she thought, ripping into the chicken_. _Robb and Jon and even Bran were grinning and trying to hold back their laughter. She glared at them then focused back on her meal muttering swears under her breath.

It wasn't fair, Arya thought. Bran who was only seven would someday become a great knight and go on adventures. Even little Rickon, only three had already started to show interest in knights and swords. _It's not fair! _Just because she was born a girl, it meant she couldn't do what she truly loved. _And_ _they will never even let me be with Jon, _the thought saddened her. Arya just couldn't fight her feelings for him; the world would tell them it's wrong, but it felt so right. Didn't her happiness matter at all? A part of her was really scared though… scared of what would happen if they ever found out.

"Father," Jon spoke up. "If you would allow it, I could show her the proper way to wield a sword." He brought his hand under the table and put it on Arya's knee, gently caressing. "Better we show her now or sooner or later she will steal a sword and start practicing behind our backs." Arya could hear genuine concern in his voice. "I wouldn't want her to get hurt."

It was true, Arya had already made plans. If Jon or her father didn't start showing her how to use a sword she would nick one from the armory and train in secret.

His hand felt warm, she could feel it through her breeches. "Idiot," she whispered, trying to force his hand away. If anyone saw they would be in big trouble. But he didn't let up and held more firmly. She couldn't deny him anymore and reluctantly gave in, resting her own hand on his. _Damn you, _she thought, trying to fend off a blush while entwining her fingers with his.

Their lord father glanced at Jon. "She would… wouldn't she?" He sighed and gazed back to Arya. "Swords are not toys for children, least of all for a girl. What would Septa Mordane say if she knew you would rather play with swords then attend her lessons?"

"I _would_ rather!" Arya insisted. "I hate Septa Mordane and her stupid lessons."

"That's enough, Arya." Her father's voice was harsh. "The septa is only doing her duty, though gods know you have made it a struggle for the poor woman. Your mother and I have charged her with the impossible task of making you a lady."

"I don't _want_ to be a lady!" Arya flared. "I would rather ride horses and train with swords then be stuck as a stupid _lady_!"

Suddenly she realized that the table had fallen silent, and they were all looking. Sansa and her friends made a face and giggled at her misfortune. She felt the tears begin to well behind her eyes.

"I'm tired of this Arya!" Her father's face turned stern. "When will you grow up?" he told her harshly, "you are a highborn lady of our house and one day you will marry a lord or a king perhaps and rule his castle, and your sons will be knights and princes and lords and your daughters will be ladies."

Arya screwed up her face. "No!" she screamed, "no, no, no, no, NO!" She did everything she could to stop herself from crying. "That's _not_ me…" She pushed herself to her feet and glanced to Jon who looked back at her concerned. _His the only one who understands me. _She bit her lip, whirled and bolted before they could see her cry.

Nearing the exit, Arya turned back and searched for Nymeria. The she-wolf was with her litter mates in the corner eating the carcasses of chickens. "Nymeria!" she called out, "Nymeria, to me." The golden eyed direwolf looked at her for a brief moment then back down at the food and continued eating. "Traitor," she whispered, then turned and ran past the guards, tears falling freely now.

Arya _hated_ it; everyone except Jon treated her like a child. She wanted to scream and howl at the sky, did they not care about her own happiness? It wasn't her fault she didn't like needlework or singing or dancing… She just wanted to do the things she loved. _Life's not fair little wolf, _Jon had told her once, and it was true, she thought, running toward the one place where she could always find an escape from this cruel reality.

Whenever she was upset or mad, she would always seek solitude in the godswood, it was ever so peaceful. Arya slumped against the moss-covered stone that overlooked a small pool where the waters were black and cold. At the center of the groove an ancient weirwood stood towering over three acres of old forest that had been untouched for ten thousand years. "The heart tree," they called it. The weirwood's bark was white as ivory, its leaves dark red, like a thousand bloodstained hands. A face had been carved in the trunk of the great tree, its features long and melancholy and the deep-cut eyes red with dried sap seemed to watch her every movement.

Arya loved the godswood. It smelled of moist earth and decay and it was filled with stubborn sentinel trees armored in grey-green needles, of mighty oaks, and ironwoods as old as the realm itself. One could hide in these woods without fear of being found, at least for a while… and that's what she needed right now, peace and quiet.

An hour she sat there, pondering and throwing rocks into the pool.

"Little wolf?" She heard suddenly from behind.

Turning, she saw Jon walking toward her. "Jon," she said softly.

"I looked all over for you. I was worried," he said, sitting next to her. "You alright?"

Arya turned from his gaze; she didn't want to show him her vulnerability. "I'm fine," she lied. She couldn't look him in the eyes, in fear she would break down and cry.

"You're not fine," he said, sounding worried. "Talk to me."

"I _am _fine!" Arya insisted. "Please… just leave me be."

Jon suddenly wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Arya struggled against the firm embrace; she couldn't show him her weak side, no matter what. "Let me go!" she screamed, "don't… _please_ just don't look at me." Her voice was hoarse, tears streamed down her cheeks. Everything she was trying to bury deep inside, all the hurt and anger was breaking free, she was losing control. She hated that he had this much control over her.

"Stop it!" he roared, tightening the embrace. "Stop trying to act so tough. Seven hells! Can't you see how much it's hurting you?" Jon was panting from the outburst. "How do you think I feel, seeing you hurt like that?" he said, tilting her face up with his fingers. "I know Arya… I _know_ how frustrating it is, being born into a fate that you hate, but we make do with what we got."

The raw emotions were too much. Burying her face into his chest she let everything go and sobbed. It wasn't fair; Arya didn't want to just get married off to some lord or king just because her lord father commanded it. She didn't want to get stuck in some castle acting like a lady until she died. No… what she truly wanted was to be _free_.

"I just want to be free," she admitted, pulling her head back to gaze up at his teary face.

"Me to, Arya. Me to." The sadness in his tone made her heart tighten.

"You won't leave me, will you?" Arya asked. The only thing that was keeping her together was Jon. "You're the only one who truly understands me."

"Arya, I love you so much. It's always going to be you and me," Jon said, wiping the tears off her cheeks. "I won't leave you."

Arya stared into his grey eyes. They were unyielding and full of dreams, dreams that involved her and only her. "Always," she told him, her lips curving into a smile.

"Always," Jon echoed, kissing her jawbone, the words grazing her skin as she arched her neck backward. "You and me, always." His whisper mingled with the kisses he brushed along her throat toward her lips. Arya closed her eyes and drifted away with him, into pure pleasure.

After minutes past, she parted from his moist lips. Breathing heavily she wondered how anyone could taste so _good_. "Why do you love me so much?" she blurted out. Part of her wondered why he had wanted her so much. He had told her she was beautiful, but she didn't feel beautiful at all, compared to her sister she felt ugly. Sometimes Arya wished she had been born with her mother's fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys, perhaps then she would have been beautiful.

Jon brought his hand up and rested it behind her neck, gently caressing with his thumb. "You don't love someone for their looks Arya, or their clothes or for their nobility, but because they sing a song only you can hear and every heart sings a song, incomplete at first, until another heart whispers back," he told her, kissing her lips twice more before pulling back and resting his forehead against hers. "You are the melody my heart yearns for, Arya. And that is why I love you, because you complete me."

Arya blushed furiously. "For true?" She felt stupid for ever doubting him. No one could say something so embarrassing to anyone if they didn't truly mean it, she thought, biting her lip lustily.

"For true." Jon grinned. "And you are so god damn beautiful." He chuckled and kissed her once more, a long and deep kiss.

Her heart fluttered in her chest, she kept her eyes closed and savored the sensations in her mouth. Arya felt him suddenly part from her lips. Curious, she opened her eyes and looked at his face, for the first time in her life, she saw true fear in his eyes.

"Arya!" She heard someone shout from behind.

Her breath got caught in her throat. Arya recognized that voice.

"What in the seven hells are you two doing!"

Arya pushed Jon away and turned to where the shout had come from. "_Mother?_" she whispered, horror-struck.

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	2. Chapter 2: Jon

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**

**Chapter 2**

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**Jon**

Sleep would not come, no matter how hard he tried. His cheeks still stung from the savage blows lady Catelyn had given him in her fury. He had been a fool, letting his emotions get the better of him. He kissed and embraced Arya without even considering for a moment that someone might see. Jon sighed and tossed around in the bed. His thoughts stabbed at him like thin daggers. What would they do with him? Jon couldn't tell and the uncertainty made him nervous. Needless to say lady Catelyn would never allow him to be near Arya again, not after what she saw… that much he could be certain of.

_I messed up, _Jon thought, misery eating at him. Everything was ruined and it was his fault. _I promised her. Seven hells I promised that I wouldn't leave her. _It had been a stupid promise, he realized now, but he meant every word for it and now he feared they would take that away from them. Where would he go? He had only ever lived in Winterfell and the thought of leaving her was too much, not when she needed him the most. _I promised, _Jon thought, cursing himself asleep.

His dream was red and savage, filled with fire and blood. Humans were in them, dozens at least. They came, riding through the rain in rusting mail and wet leather, swords and axe clanking against their saddles. Most had bows in their hands and when they spotted him they let loose in his direction. They thought they were hunting him, he knew with all the strange sharp certainty of dreams, but they were wrong. He was hunting them.

He wasn't just some bastard in the dream; he was a dragon, huge and powerful, and when he descended from the clouds and landed in front of them and bared his long sharp teeth in a low rumbling growl, he could smell the rank stench of fear from horse and man alike. The mounts reared and screamed in terror, and they shouted at one another in mantalk, but before they could act another two dragons came hurtling from the darkness and the rain and crashed into the ground with mighty roars and smoke smouldering from their mouths.

The fight was short but bloody. Half a dozen were bathed in the cream scaled dragon's flame which was pale gold shot through with red-and-orange. Both men and mounts screamed in agony before dying. Before the hairy man at the front could unsling his axe the dark-green and bronze scaled dragon was already on him, tearing him apart with such ease it was frightening. Five died trying to notch arrows, and another dozen tried to bolt when they realized the battle was lost. The green dragon took flight and from the air showered them with his orange-and-yellow flame which was shot through with veins of green. None had escaped.

Only the belled man stood his ground as he was the last one left and must have known there was no escape. The man quickly notched an arrow and let loose, the arrow hit the cream dragon in the wing, causing him to roar in anger and pain.

Filled with rage, Jon leapt into the air and took flight, furiously flapping his wings; he felt immense heat building in his throat. Circling the last standing enemy he suddenly ascended higher and higher toward the clouds before turning and hurtling back down. His rage was fueling his anger and the heat building in his throat felt like it would burst if he did not let it loose. Nearing the enemy he stretched his wings as far as he could and roared, his blue-and-black flames erupted from his mouth, engulfing the bowmen, the force of the flame threw him from his mount, he was dead before he touched the wet ground.

Circling around he landed back down in front of the other dragons. Both dragons looked at him, never had he seen such beautiful creatures. The cream dragon's eyes were two pools of molten gold, and his horns, wing bones and spinal crest were also gold colored while the green dragon's eyes were bronze, brighter than polished shields, and they glowed with their own heat.

Suddenly between the two beasts a shadowed figure emerged. He could tell from the physique alone it was a female. She raised her hand and gestured for him to come closer and he did. The closer he got the darker everything became.

"Wake up." A voice called from the darkness.

Jon's eyes fluttered opened. He sat up, sweat trickled down his face and his breath was heavy. Confused he glanced around and for a moment he wondered where the dragons and woman were. _Only a dream_. He realized and sighed.

"Jon?"

"Father?" he asked, recognizing the voice. Jon knuckled his eyes, adjusting to the brightness of the room. The window was open and the sun shone right threw. He glanced around and saw his lord father standing at the edge of the bed, long brown hair gently stirring in the morning wind. His closely trimmed beard was shot with white, making him look older than his thirty-five years. He had a grim cast to his grey eyes this morning. The memories of the day before flooded Jon's mind, it felt like he had been punched in the gut, he couldn't look his father in the eyes.

"I would have come and talked with you yesterday, but I thought it best to leave it to the morning," Ned said, sitting down onto the side of the bed.

Jon inhaled and faced him. "I-I," he began to say, but the words got caught in his throat.

Eddard Stark didn't seem angry. "Jon, many moons back you told me about what you wanted to do once you were a man grown?"

Jon was confused. He thought for sure that his father would be furious with him. Wordless he just nodded. He had thought about the Night's Watch long and hard, lying abed at night while his brothers slept around him. Robb would someday inherit Winterfell, would command great armies as the Warden of the North. Bran and Rickon would be Robb's bannermen and rule holdfasts in his name. His sisters would eventually have to marry the heirs of other great houses and go south as mistress of castles of their own. But what place could a bastard hope to earn?

The thought of Arya marrying someone made him bite his lip, drawing blood. Jon knew she would never marry anyone she didn't love… and deep inside part of him wished he could be the one to marry her but he knew better, it would never happen.

"There's great honor serving in the Night's Watch. The Starks have manned the walls for thousands of years… and you are a Stark, you may not have my name but you have my blood."

"Aren't you angry about what happened yesterday?" Jon blurted out. He couldn't understand why his father seemed so calm. Surely he must have heard about Arya and him.

A touch of sadness enveloped Ned's eyes. "I don't blame you Jon. After all you have the blood of the dragon coursing through your veins." He turned from Jon's gaze. "I should have known something like this might happen."

"I-I don't understand?" Jon said. "What do you mean?"

"Your mother…" Ned's voice trembled as he said it. Clearing his throat he continued, "You must have wondered for a long time just who your mother was."

"Was?" Jon said, looking down at the sheets. His heart tightened, he had always hoped he would meet his mother someday. _She's dead, _he thought, fighting back the tears. "Who was she?"

"I am truly sorry Jon. You must know I did what I did to protect you. I promised her…" Ned said, rubbing the tears that formed around his eyes.

"Protect me?" Jon said, swallowing nervously. "What do you mean?" He raised his head and looked at Ned, searching for answers.

"I'm not your father." Ned extended his arm and rested his hand on Jon's shoulder. "Your mother was Lyanna Stark, my sister." He took a deep breath. "Your father was Rhaegar Targaryen."

"_Targaryen?_" Jon murmured, his mind was racing, it was impossible. _Lyanna was my mother? _He thought. Seldom did Ned ever talk about her. _Could it be true? _Though how could he be a Targaryen? He didn't have any of the common features that the Targaryens had. No purple eyes or silver-blonde hair. But why would he lie? Nothing made sense.

"I'm your uncle Jon."

Speechless, Jon said nothing. His heart pounded against his chest. _Just how long have they lied to me, _he thought, feeling betrayed. What difference did it make…? _Dragon or wolf, your still bastard born,_ his inner self whispered cruelly.

Ned's face turned stern. "I am fully aware about what happened between Arya and you. Cat spent a great deal of time explaining it to me… She doesn't want you here anymore."

Ned's bluntness felt like an unforeseen slap. Though Jon had known it would be the case, there was no way Catelyn Stark would ever want him around. "You want me to go to the Night's watch?"

"This is what you wanted? Isn't it," Ned asked, gazing at Jon searchingly.

He had, for a long time. But everything was different now. Joining the Night's Watch meant forsaking everything he held dear, it meant he would barely get to see Arya again and he wouldn't be able to live with that. _She's my cousin, _Jon thought, though it didn't matter. Even if she was his sister, cousin or a total stranger, Jon knew he would have fallen in love with her all the same; he would love her until his last breath.

"Yes," Jon lied.

"Good, you will depart in a few days. Jon," Ned said, getting up and walking toward the door he turned back to look at Jon once more. "I'm sorry for lying to you about your mother. But it was the only way to protect you from Robert Baratheon's fury.

It was known that the king had an extreme hatred for the Targaryen's. "Did Rhaegar really kidnap my mother… and rape her?" Jon asked. The rumors of their disappearance were common knowledge, but from how they talked about Rhaegar Targaryen, he found it hard to believe he would have raped Lyanna Stark. _Rhaegar urged his horse past his own wife and laid the blue winter rose laurel of the queen of beauty in Lyanna's lap, _he thought, _he must have loved her._

"No, he didn't rape her. She told me as much, right after I found her in the Tower of Joy. She had just given birth to you and the way she looked at you and held you, there was only love in her final moments. Lyanna made me promise to protect you and that's what I did. They were deeply in love Jon, and many thousands paid for that love… though the only good thing that came from all that blood was you."

Jon couldn't help but smile. He had always thought that his mother abandoned him because she didn't care. But now, he knew the truth. His mother loved him and the thought alone brought tears to his eyes. _I wish I could have met you both, _he thought, fighting back the tears.

"I'm sorry," Jon said, breaking the silence. "I don't know why I feel the way I do about Arya, but I love her."

"Leaving Winterfell… will be the best thing you can do for her. She is young and what she feels for you right now will only hurt her down the road," he calmly said. "There is a wildness in Arya. The 'Wolf Blood', my father used to call it. Lyanna had a touch of it, and my brother Brandon more than a touch. It brought them both to an early grave." Ned sighed. "If you truly love her then you must do what's best for her. You must leave and let her move on, because these feelings you have for each other will only lead you both to ruin," he said sadly and left the room.

Jon fell back down on the bed. He knew what he had to do. _I will leave, _he thought, _but I won't go to the Night's Watch._ Jon grabbed the extra pillow and hugged it. "Fuck," he wanted to scream. He would leave, he had to, but he didn't know how Arya would react. The thought alone was too much; he had promised after all that he wouldn't leave her.

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**Hope you liked it.**


	3. Chapter 3: Arya

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**Chapter 3**

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**Arya**

Arya sighed at her stitches, they were crooked once more.

She wanted to strangle Septa Mordane for forcing her to attend another one of her stupid lessons. The boredom alone was murder. Arya frowned down at her work and glanced over to the open window. Hours of sitting were starting to take its toll on her back and she couldn't stand the dull conversations Sansa was having with her friends. _The boys are practicing, _she thought, listening to the song of swords clashing. She wondered if Jon was with them…

Yawning, she turned her attention back to her own work again, looking for some way to salvage it, then sighed and put down the needle. It was no use; all she could think about was him. They had been caught in the godswood, and seldom did the fear disappear from that moment. She just wanted to see and talked with him once more, but her lady mother had forbidden it. _They can't keep me from him, _she thought, flowing with rebellion.

She had tried to sleep that night after the godswood, but sleep had not come easy. Fears stabbed at her ruthlessly. Arya knew the resentment her mother had for Jon and this would no doubt be the straw that broke the dragon's back. _I won't let them. Never! _Though if they meant to send him away, what could she do? _I won't let them_. She fought off another yawn and muttered swears under her breath.

"Did you say something, little sister?" Sansa asked, glancing at her in an uninterested manner.

Arya shook her head. She couldn't tell Sansa about what was troubling her. Their lady mother made sure of that, and Arya wouldn't have told anyone either way. No one would understand her feelings… no one except Jon, who felt the same way and told her as much.

_I have to see him._ Arya decided, _but how will I get to him? _Her lord father had posted guards in the hallway just near Jon's bedchambers to make sure they couldn't meet. When they had turned her away she was furious, and the fact she couldn't do anything felt like salt on her wounds.

She looked glumly at her sister. Sansa was whispering something to Ser Rodrik's little girl, Beth Cassel, who was sitting by her feet. Jeyne Poole, who sat to her left, was leaning over to whisper something into her ear. And soon all three were giggling while they continued to work on their stitches.

"What are you talking about?" Arya asked, trying to forget about her troubles.

All three girls looked at her, then at each other. Their awkward silence made Arya feel uneasy. "What is it?" she demanded, keeping her voice down so the septa wouldn't hear.

Sansa glanced over to make certain that Septa Mordane was not listening. One of the older girls said something then, and the septa laughed along with the rest of the ladies.

"We were talking about our half-brother," Sansa said, her voice soft and cruel.

The mention of Jon made her heart tighten. _Jon? _She thought, swallowing nervously. "What about him?" she asked, trying not to sound too interested.

"We overheard your lady mother talking about how they were going to send him to the wall," Jeyne whispered, the softest of smiles touching her lips. She was the daughter of Winterfell's steward and Sansa's dearest friend and no doubt had been influenced by Sansa to dislike Jon. "She was talking about it with your lord father."

For a few moments Arya was speechless. _The wall, _she thought, gnawing on her bottom lip. _They mean to send him to the Nights Watch! _Arya felt her hands shake. "They can't," she blurted out.

Sansa gave her a queer look. "Jon Snow is just a bastard. Who cares if they send him to the wall? I think it's for the good," she said cruelly.

Arya pushed herself out of the chair and walked toward Sansa. "His our brother!" she screamed and slapped Sansa across her cheek. Her sound cut through the afternoon quiet of the tower room.

Septa Mordane raised her eyes. She had a bony face, sharp eyes, and a thin lipless mouth made for frowning. Her eyes beamed with shock. "Arya!" her voice roared through the room, "just what do you think you're doing?" she said, putting down the needle in her hand and standing. "Apologize to your sister right now!" Her bony finger pointed straight at Arya.

Sansa sat their rubbing her reddened cheek, shocked. "You hit me!" she said, tears welling behind her eyes. Beth and Jeyne also shared Sansa's shocked expression.

"I'll hit you again," Arya said, not caring about all the eyes that were on her. She was furious, how dare she talk about Jon like that? Arya raised her hand again and Sansa recoiled backward. But before she could strike again the septa intervened and grabbed Arya by the arm and pulled her away.

Arya wanted to scream. They were going to take him away from her! _It's not fair! _She thought, resisting the septa's bony touch. "Let me go!" she demanded, struggling. _They're going to take him away! _

Sansa and her friends glared at Arya. "I wouldn't be surprised," Sansa screamed at her, "Only you and Jon _Snow_ have our fathers look. You're _probably_ a bastard just like him."

Everyone was looking at her. It was too much. Sansa glanced back down to her work and continued to stitch, ignoring her completely. The room feel silent, save for the whispers. Arya felt tears filling her eyes. She yanked her hand free from Septa Mordane's grip and bolted for the door.

Septa Mordane called after her. "Arya, come back here! Don't you take another step! You come back and apologize to your sister this very instant. Your lady mother will hear of this!"

Arya stopped at the door and turned back, biting her lip. The tears were running down her cheeks now. She managed a stiff little bow to the ladies in the room and glared at Sansa. "Fuck you," she said sweetly, taking a brief satisfaction in the shock on both the septa's and Sansa's face. Then she whirled and made her exit, running as fast as her feet would take her.

Nymeria was waiting for her in her bedchamber. The golden eyed direwolf bounded to her feet and nipped eagerly at her hands. Arya grinned. The wolf pup loved her, as much as Jon did. "Night's watch," she said, remembering what Sansa had told her. Her heart ached. _I won't let them, _she thought, crouching then hugging the wolfling tight. Nymeria licked her ear, and she couldn't help but giggle.

An hour past before Septa Mordane and her mother entered her bedchambers without knocking. Arya refused to apologize about what had happened in the septa's lesson. She didn't care that all the ladies had witnessed her unladylike behavior. Arya would have hit Sansa more if they didn't interfere, she would never let someone belittle Jon, her _Jon. _Arya asked her mother several times if what Sansa had said was true. Lady Catelyn eventually folded and told her the truth, though she didn't want to believe it.

As punishment Arya was confined to her room until the morning, not that she cared much. Hunger was least of her problems. For hours she had paced back and forward pondering about what her mother had said. _He chose to leave? _She thought, refusing to believe it. He had promised her that he wouldn't leave her. But the more she thought about the less certain she was and the more her heart tightened and ached.

Arya unlaced her grey long-sleeved gown and threw it at the corner. She donned her favorite nightgown of blue-black silk that fell down to her knees. She collapsed back onto the furred bed and shifted onto her side. Hugging the spare pillow she buried her tear-stained face into it. She didn't know what to believe anymore…

"Arya?" someone knocked and called out in a whisper.

"Leave me alone," she replied, not bothering to move from the comfortable position.

"It's me, Jon."

Arya rolled onto her other side and sat up, throwing her legs over the edge of the bed. Her heart started to _thump_ against her chest. "Come in," she said.

Ghost entered first followed by Jon; carefully he closed to door behind him without making noise. He wore high leather riding boots, roughspun breeches and tunic, sleeveless leather jerkin, and heavy grey wool cloak. On his left hip was a longsword and dagger sheathed in soft grey leather scabbards. In his hand he had something long wrapped in rags.

Ghost moved to where Nymeria was curled up on the bundle of blankets. The wolfling smelled her, gave her ear a careful nip, and settled down next to her.

"Arya," Jon said.

Just looking at him in those travelers gear was all she needed to see. "Liar!" she screamed at him, throwing the pillow in his direction, scarcely noticing if it even hit. Jumping onto her feet she stormed up to him. "Liar!" she repeated, tears filling her eyes.

"You know," Jon said sadly.

Arya slapped him hard on the cheek. "Liar, liar, liar," she whispered, sniffling loudly. "How could you?" she asked, her voice trembling. Her sadness turned to anger once more and she started pounding on his chest as hard as she could. "You _promised me_ Jon… how could you! You're leaving me!" Her jaw trembled as she said it. Panting and crying she slowed her assault on his chest, eventually stopping. _How could you? _Her heart was breaking.

"Not by choice," he told her, sadness deep in his grey eyes. Dark eyes, like hers.

Arya rubbed her forehead, exasperated. "I don't know what to do anymore," she admitted, "I don't even know how to help the person I love—what am I supposed to do? I don't want to lose you Jon." She looked up at him, the heavy cloak made him look bigger and the boots taller.

"Lose me?" He laughed, placing the object wrapped in rags against the door behind him. "You will never lose me. My heart is yours and only yours until my final breath, little wolf," he said, walking to her and wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her close.

"But the Night's Watch?" she asked, returning the embrace.

"I won't go there. I could never take a vow that would keep me from you," Jon said, smiling sadly. "I don't want to leave you Arya. But… they won't let me stay in Winterfell anymore, I have to leave tonight."

"Leave tonight?" Arya didn't want him to leave, no matter what… but there was no other choice and she knew it. Her heart was still breaking though. "I don't want you to!" She buried her face into his chest and held him tight, scared that if she let go he would disappear.

"Arya," Jon said, his voice soft as a kiss. "I have to. I was lucky enough to get past the guards near my room. I won't have a chance like this again."

"Where will you go?" she asked, "if not to the Nights Watch."

"White Harbor, from there I will find a ship and travel across to the Free Cities."

Her heart suddenly stopped, she held her breath. _Free Cities? _The thought alone was too much to bear. "You can't go that far," she blurted out, "No. No! I won't let you." She tightened her embrace. "You can't!"

"I made up my mind Arya. I need to do this."

"What if you die," she said, strangely calm. "To lose you—"

"I won't die," Jon reassured her.

"Promise me you'll come back to me Jon," Arya pleaded, "and _promise me_ you'll never forget me because if I thought you would… I'd never let you leave."

"I Promise," he said, leaning forward and gently kissing her lips. "I Promise to the old gods and new." He kissed her thrice more before leaning back. "Arya, you have to look after Ghost for me."

"You're not taking him with you?" she asked dumbfounded. "You have to take him with you! He will protect you." Her voice was filled with worry.

"Arya, I can't. The Free Cities are said to be really hot during the day, Ghost wouldn't like it."

She glanced away from his gaze. Jon was right, direwolves were made to roam amongst the snow, but still she hated the idea that Ghost wouldn't be there to protect him. "Fine…" she said reluctantly. "Nymeria would love to have Ghost close all the time." Arya glanced at the two direwolves. They were snuggled next to each other, looking at them with their fierce eyes. _Do they love each other? _she thought, studying the wolflings. Were wolves capable of love? Arya liked to think so.

"By the way…" Jon said, interrupting her thoughts. "I finally found out who my mother was," he said, a sad smile touched his lips.

"For true?" she asked, surprised.

Jon nodded. "You won't believe it though."

"Tell me," she asked curiously. Arya always wondered who Jon's mother could be; everyone knew how honorable their lord father was and for him to sire a child with someone other than her lady mother… _Father must have loved her, _she concluded. "How did you find out Jon?"

"Lord Eddard told me."

"Father did?"

He nodded once more. "Arya… My mother was Lyanna Stark."

"Lyanna?" Arya didn't understand. _Lyanna was our aunt, _She thought, confused. "But she was our aunt? How could she…"

Jon swallowed and licked his lips. "Lord Eddard is my uncle."

"What?" Arya stepped back and studied Jon's face. "What do you mean?" Was this some kind of a jape? If it was, she would hit him again because it wasn't funny.

"He told me today, in the morning. Lyanna was my mother; she died giving birth to me." Jon's voice was filled with sadness and shame. "My father was Rhaegar Targaryen."

Arya's mouth fell open. How could this be? She thought. Jon didn't have purple eyes or silver-blond hair the Targaryens were known for. "You're not lying to me are you?"

"No, I wouldn't lie about this," Jon said.

She believed him. "You're a dragon and a wolf… no wonder you were always warm to the touch even in the coldest of days." Arya's heart tightened. She remembered the tales of how Rhaegar Targaryen had died at the trident and Lyanna Stark at the Tower of Joy. _His smile is so sad, _she thought, looking at Jon's face. Arya wanted to rip all the sad emotions out of him and leave nothing but happiness. "That means we're cousins you know," Arya said.

"Siblings or cousins, Targaryen or Stark, it will never matter to me. I love you no matter what." Jon stepped forward and put his hand on her cheek. "I love you and I will come back to you, I promise. And Arya, its best if no one else knows about who my mother and father were."

Arya sighed, and rested her own hand on top of his. "I won't tell anyone, I promise," she said, caressing his hand.

Jon grinned suddenly. "I have something for you, a gift to remember me by."

Her face lit up. "A present?"

Jon kissed her once more before turning and walking back to the door where he had left the gift. Jon picked it up and walked back to her. He pulled off the rags he'd wrapped it in and showed it to her.

Arya gasped. "A sword," she said in a small, hushed breath.

The scabbard was hand crafted, made of soft grey-blue leather, supple as sin. Jon unsheathed the blade slowly, so she could see the deep blue sheen of the steel. The blade was slender and beautiful. "I've known for a long time that you've always wanted your own blade," he said, offering the blade. "The edges are really sharp, so don't go maiming yourself." Jon chuckled.

"I won't. I know how to use a sword," she said stubbornly, holding the sword in both hands. "What kind of blade is this?" She was mesmerized by its glimmering beauty. "It's so skinny."

"Just like you," Jon told her. "I had Mikken make this special just for you. The bravos use swords like this in Pentos and Myr and the other Free Cities. It won't hack limbs off, but it can poke them full of holes if you're fast enough."

"I can be fast," Arya said.

"You'll need to work at it every day." He put the sword in her hands, then moved behind her and showed her how to hold it properly. "How does it feel? Do you like the balance?" he whispered into her ear.

"I think so," Arya said, giggling at the gentle kisses he placed around her neck._ My own sword!_ She thought, feeling the weight of the blade. She loved him all the more in that moment; Jon always seemed to know what her soul truly craved. Jon gazed at her, his eyes searching. It occurred to her that no one in her life had ever concerned themselves so thoroughly about her happiness. "Thank you so much. I love it."

He smiled at her reaction. "First lesson, little wolf," Jon said. "Stick them with the pointy end."

Arya turned and made a face at him. "I know which end to use," she said, gesturing for him to hand her the scabbard so she could sheath it.

"I don't doubt that," he laughed, handing the scabbard over. "When I return, we shall spar and see whose better."

Arya smiled and nodded. "I'd like that—"

Jon kissed her suddenly, wrapping his arms around her. She heard the _thud _the sheathed blade made as it hit the floor. Arya closed her eyes and kissed back as fiercely. He caressed her back and hugged her tight. "I'll miss you," he said, in between kisses.

Suddenly Arya felt like she was going to cry. "I wish you weren't going."

Jon kissed the tears from her eyes before they could fall. "Me to… but life's never fair." He forced a smile and messed up her hair like he always did. "Fear not for me. I will return to you."

"You better," she told him in a commanding voice. "I will be waiting." Reluctantly she untangled herself from him and stepped back.

"I better go," Jon said. "I need to get past the guards and head to winter town so I can get a horse." Jon turned and walked to the door. Before exiting he turned and gazed at her one last time. "I almost forgot. All the best swords have names."

"Like Ice," she said, glancing down. She knelt and picked up the fallen blade. "Does this have a name? Oh, please tell me." Arya unsheathed the blade halfway and looked at her sword once more. She had always wanted to have her own sword and now she did, though she would trade all the swords in Winterfell to keep Jon with her. _I won't be sad, I'm a wolf, _she thought, trying to be strong.

"It's your sword, Arya." Jon smiled at her. "I'm sure you'll find a suitable name."

"Needle!" she blurted out without thinking.

"Needle?" he asked, chuckling. "Why not, it's a good name for a sword." Jon inhaled deeply then sighed. "I need to go…"

Arya ran to him for a last hug. "Be careful," she told him, gazing up to at his face. "Don't forget about me."

"Never," he said, leaning down and kissing her between the brows. Then he was gone.

* * *

**Thanks for reading and I hope you liked it.  
**


	4. Chapter 4: Jon

**Hope you enjoy the fourth chapter.**

**Chapter 4**

* * *

**Jon**

Snow fell lightly as Jon spurred the mare forward into the night. "Faster, sweet lady," he said in a soft voice. He needed to get as far from Winterfell as he could before they realized he was gone. It didn't help that he had to steal a horse, but he didn't have enough coin for one. Jon knew he had at least eight hours head start. Come morning they would know he was gone, though he still wasn't sure if they would send a search party. _Uncle might, _Jon thought, _but lady Catelyn wouldn't even care and advice against it no doubt. _He hoped they would just let him leave in peace; a search party would only complicate matters, not that it really mattered, only Arya knew where he was going and she would never betray him.

The strong icy wind cut at his face. Jon raised the hood of his heavy cloak in response and kept the pace. Winter town was silent and still as he rode out toward White harbor. Jon would need to travel south down the kingsroad then turn east once he was near Moat Cailin. The journey would only take a week or so, depending on his mare's endurance.

Moonlight illuminated the hills as he followed the kingsroad south. When the last lights of Winterfell disappeared behind him, Jon slowed his mare to a trot. He had a long journey ahead and only the one horse to see him through; it would be unwise to overexert the horse, especially at night. There were holdfasts and villages along the road where he might be able to trade the mare for a fresh mount when he needed one, but not if she were injured.

He knew he was doing the right thing by leaving. Had he stayed he would be forced to take the black and forsake everything he held dear, including Arya. She was the only thing he wanted most in this life… her and freedom from his bastard status. What good was a man that couldn't do or have what he wanted? Blood or not he loved her more than they would ever know and she loved him just as much. That should be the only thing that matters, yet the world would deny them. "Targaryen's wed brother to sister and cousin to cousin for centuries," Jon said aloud, as if to convince the world.

It did no good thinking about such things, not now. Jon clutched the reigns and spurred his horse forward, galloping faster and faster, as if to escape his doubts._ Arya, I'll come back to you, _he promised,_ no matter what._

Both Jon and the mare were drenched with sweat by the time they pasted Castle Cerwyn. He made good time; it took less than half a day. But they both needed rest, or else the horse would stumble and break a leg sooner or later. Jon slowed the pace and found a good spot under a mighty grey-green sentinel. To shelter him from the cold snow, for a while at least. He dismounted and let the horse graze along the kingsroad while he drank from his waterskin and ate some of his biscuits and cheese which he swiped from the kitchen. His head was pounding from the cold and he could only think of Arya. _I am doing this for her_, he told himself, _so why do I feel so bad?_ It was either this or taking the black. He had to leave, but the feelings still lingered within.

Jon swung back into the saddle. The food and water made his headache more bearable, but it still throbbed. He turned his mare south and trotted forward. A thin crust of snow cracked beneath her hooves, with a sound like breaking bones. When the wind set the leaves of the might oaks around them to rustling, it was like a chilly finger tracing a path down Jon's back. Winterfell was well behind by now, and only the gods knew what lay ahead.

During the days he kept a good pace and did his best to avoid holdfasts that were close bannermen to House Stark, in fear they would recognize him by face. Too many awkward questions would arise and Jon had little time to deal with them. And during the night he searched for a suitable place to rest, it was slower but at least he didn't have to worry about his horse injuring herself. Trees were good, but sometimes he found abandoned houses, those nights he slept best.

**-0-**

The morning sky on the seventh day was clouded and the wind brisk, at least the snow had stopped falling and he was finally at his destination. Jon had never been to White harbor before, though he had heard stories and learnt the history of the noble house that ruled there. _House Manderly, _he thought. He had to be cautious, the current lord of House Manderly and many of his household knights had often visited Winterfell and they must have seen him at some point. _They won't recognize me, _he reassured himself while gazing at the large walled city next to the White Knife.

White Harbor's walls of whitewashed stone rose before him as he neared. The cities defenses looked formidable. The jetty that divided the inner and outer harbors was thirty feet tall and almost a mile long, with towers every hundred yards. The city was located on the eastern shore of the White Knife, but luckily they had built a long bridge that connected the western shore with the eastern. Jon clutched the reigns tightly and kicked his mount to a canter. The bridge was wide enough for a dozen horses to cross side by side. Jon studied the outer gate that would lead into city as he passed over the bridge.

Four spearmen with tridents instead of spears had been posted at the gate, with the badge of House Manderly embroidered upon their breasts, but they were too intent with flirting with passing whores to pay Jon any mind. The gate was open, the portcullis raised high. He blended in with the traffic and passed through.

He had heard that the major cities in Westeros always smelled bad and were littered with rubbish, but White Harbor was clean and well-ordered, with wide straight cobbled streets that made it easy for a man to find his way. The houses were built of whitewashed stone, with steeply pitched roofs of dark grey slate. The smell of the sea washed over him as he trotted deeper into the city, the scent was sharp and salty, and a little fishy too.

Jon remembered that he had to make for Fishfoot Yard which would lead to the Seal Gate, then out to the outer harbor where the ships would be docked. The merman of House Manderly and direwolf of House Stark was everywhere in evidence, flying from the towers of the New Castle, above the Seal Gate which he headed toward, and along the city walls.

Exiting through the Seal Gate, Jon noticed the dockside wharves were swarming. Numerous amounts of small boats were tied up along the fish market, off-loading their catches. It was the seagoing vessels that interested Jon the most. There were five trading galleys, three cogs that looked drab and tattered, a pair of carracks that seemed newly built and a Braavos galleas marked by its purple hull and sails.

The sudden realization that he had to sell his horse made him frown. It didn't feel right selling his mare; she had after all brought him here in one piece. But he couldn't take her on the voyage and that was one of the reasons he hadn't named her; once you named a horse it was much more difficult to part with.

The stable was located back in the walled city, he learnt from one of the guards that patrolled the docks. Jon dismounted once he found the stable and guided the horse inside. The owner was a small, but robust man that smelled of horses. He looked the mare over carefully and asked Jon how he'd come by her, and smiled at the answer. "She seems like a well-bred horse, strong and sturdy. I don't doubt she belonged to your dead father," he said grinning. "Worth a good amount of silver I'd say." He looked the mare over once more and went to fetch the coin.

_He knew I was lying, _thought Jon. But the man didn't seem to care; the mare was too good a chance to miss. The purse he got was decent enough and would most likely buy passage to Braavos, which was the closest of the free cities and would cost less. _From there I'll decide where to go. _On his journey to White harbor he had spent a good amount of time pondering on what he would do once he was across the ocean. He knew there were a dozen different sellsword companies that would accept him. Jon was after all good with swords and would fight and kill if necessary.

_The Braavosi ship will most likely be trading and restocking on supplies before sailing back home, _he thought during the long walk back to the harbor. It would be his best chance… that is if he had enough coin. Jon had never sailed before and knew little of the costs of travel. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the pouch full of coins and felt its weight. _Should suffice… I hope._

The purple galley was still docked by the time he walked back into the outer harbor. The purple hue of the hull clearly set it apart from the other ships that were docked close by. Dozens of sailors were running down the plank that connected the ship with the wharf, then back up with boxes of food and barrels of mead. The amount of cargo that was placed on the wharf was queer; Jon knew that Braavos was the closest of the free cities to White Harbor and that they wouldn't need that much food and drink for such a short journey.

Jon walked to the wharf nevertheless, odd or not this was his best chance of reaching the free cities. Nearing the galley he glanced around at the sailors and tried to decide which one of them was the captain. When he walked to close to the galley a sailor up on deck shouted down at him in a tongue he did not know. "I want to see the captain," Jon told him. He only shouted louder in response. But the commotion between them drew the attention of a lean and tall black-haired man in a coat of blue-purple wool, and he spoke the common tongue fluently. "I'm the captain here," he said. "What does a boy want with the captain of the _Merlin King_?"

"I'm a man grown," Jon lied. Only once a boy turned sixteen did he become a man grown and Jon would be sixteen his next name-day but the captain didn't need to know that. "I wish to buy passage east, to Braavos. I can pay, here." He reached into his cloak and pulled out the pouch filled with silver stags. Jon watched as the captain spilled out the stags onto his palm.

"I assume this is all you have," he said, counting the silver. "Under normal circumstances this would be enough for a small cabin… but I'm afraid our destination is not Braavos." He poured the silver back into the pouch and handed it back to Jon.

"Then where is the _Merlin King_ headed to?" Jon asked.

The captain grinned, his teeth white and straight. "Somewhere only the bravest of the brave dare sail."

Jon paused and gave the captain a weary smile. "Does this place have a name?" He would have preferred to go to Braavos then find out where the nearest sellsword company was but the way the captain spoke, peaked his interest immensely.

"_Valyria._" His grin grew larger and he touched his chin with his fingers. "Are you interested? I do have need of a cabin boy and everyone I'v asked thus far turned me down and named me crazy for speaking such nonsense."

_Crazy is an understatement, _Jon thought, pondering the offer. Old Nan had told countless amounts of stories about the great empire in Essos, the Valyrian Freehold. Its capital Valyria was destroyed by a cataclysmic event known as the Doom of Valyria a century before Aegon Targaryens Landing. But Jon knew the only way to get to Valyria was through the smoking sea and Old Nan had always told them that it was haunted by demons and the waters infested with krakens. But that didn't scare him, what did was that he had also heard that the waters were said to bubble and let off foul vapors and mists which would kill sailors outright. "And how do you plan to traverse the smoking sea?" he asked, hoping the captain would have an answer that didn't sound crazy.

"I know a way, but I'd be foolish to tell." The captain laughed. "If you would journey with me, you'll see with your own eyes. Only if you risk everything do you have a chance to gain fortunes, fame and glory that you would have never thought possible. That is what I offer you, if you would sail to Valyria with me and my crew."

Jon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was risky, he knew. But the chance at glory was much too tempting. He knew if he made it to Valyria in one piece, he could perhaps find lost treasures, like old Valyrian scrolls, blades forged with Valyrian steel and even dragon eggs. If he sailed back with riches and fame, he could take Arya across the sea to the Free Cities and live in comfort for the rest of their natural lives without fear of being found. _I won't die, _he told himself over and over. Everything Jon did was for Arya and if he didn't risk anything he would never be able to take her away and make her happy.

"When do we depart?" Jon said, deciding the risk was worth it.

The captain looked him over and nodded. "On the next tide hopefully. First though, we need to load the cargo." He turned toward the sailors and gestured. "Come, I'll introduce you to the crew."

**-0-**

The waters were calm and the purple sail barely fluttered in the wind. For the past day and a half they had barely made any progress on their journey to Valyria. Jon glanced around and only saw the deep dark-blue hue of the ocean that surrounded the _Merlin King_. Gazing at the vastness still managed to leave him in awe, even after spending three months at sea. The last time they saw land was a week past when they sailed past the many islands of Lys. Since then he had yet to see another ship or land.

Jon's boredom was intense and the fact that none of the sailors needed any help only made matters worse. In times like this he would rather work then laze around; whenever he wasn't busy his mind always seemed to fill with thoughts of Arya. It wasn't that he didn't like thinking about her, it was just that whenever he did, his heart would tighten and the thoughts would distract him from his responsibilities as the galleys cabin boy; captain Daimos would often scold him for that.

His duties aboard the _Merlin King_ ranged from helping the cooks prepare the food to running from one end of the ship to the other carrying messages. Jon also had to get familiar with the sails, lines and ropes and the use of each in all sorts of weather. Though what good were those skills in weather like this? Jon sighed and rested against the wooden bulwark on the left side of the galley. On rare occasions the captain would appoint him as helmsman and command him to hold the wheel steady so the ship would stay on course while he took a break and rested his eyes. Those days were the best.

"There's a storm brewing," Daimos said, "I can feel it in my bones."

Jon glanced sideways and saw the captain walking toward him. "How do you know?" he asked. The sea was calm and the sky had but a few clouds, it didn't look like a storm was forming, the day had been beautiful. Though Jon had learned early on that the captains instincts were almost always correct. _Maybe with a storm the wind will return, _he thought. "At least the wind will return and we can continue sailing."

"Let's hope the storm is friendly," Daimos chuckled awkwardly.

The captain's unease was seeping out of his calm demeanor. "Dusk is almost upon us," Jon said, attempting to change the topic. "Hopefully by morning the winds will return and we might just be able to avoid this storm your feeling." If there was a storm coming and the winds did not return, they would be helpless. The storms were known to be much stronger the closer one neared the Smoking Sea.

"One can hope Jon Snow. Get some rest for now though, I have a feeling we will need every hand on deck come tomorrow," Daimos told him and left him to bask in the setting of the sun.

Jon closed his eyes, breathing in the last of the long day. Though autumn wasn't his favorite season, he had to admit there was something special about the autumn sunsets on the sea. As of late he found himself watching the sunsets.

Dusk cast an orange haze above the horizon, lighting up the sky as if lit by fire, yet the haze was so crisp and clear. The sun, like a large, orange fireball in the distance was partially cloaked by the clouds, which were all splashed with the random colors of bright pinks, reds and even hints of purples and blues. The sun was so large that he felt he could almost touch it. It seemed to look at him with a dull glare and whisper "_Come back to me_" as it sunk lower and lower in a lazy manner. He thought of Arya in that moment as the sun slowly disappeared over the horizon: bright smile and wild nature, everything about her he missed. Only now did he know how much he truly needed her. "I'll come back to you," he whispered to the sun. "I promise."

Jon frowned; he didn't want to sleep but knew he needed to. Should a storm form on the morrow, they would need every able man's help and he didn't want to be half awake when the time came. He leaned off from the bulwark and made for his small cabin that was located in the lower levels of the galley. A sudden cool breeze passed over him, making him stop halfway through the deck. He let the wind tousle his hair, imagining it was Arya's soft touch. Jon grinned, the wind was back and now they would be able to set sail once more and hopefully avoid this storm the captain was feeling.

**-0-**

The dream was the same dream he had been having for the past few weeks. Jon stood in the middle of an unfamiliar Great Hall, which looked like it had been ravaged by wildfire. The ceiling partially collapsed which gave view of the clouded sky. Grey and dark the heavens seemed to cry with thunder. Rain fell heavy all around him, washing away the blood that painted the stone hall a bright crimson. Jon found it odd that the scent of the rain was so strong, even though he knew it was a dream.

Severed limbs and torsos littered the floor and tables. In front of him a man laid motionless, his face shadowed, life-blood flowing from numerous wounds. A girl sat next to the soon to be corpse, cradling the dying man in her arms. _You promised me, _she murmured repeatedly in-between sniffles.

Thunder roared through the sky, or he thought it was thunder, there was something weird about the sound, it sounded more beast then nature. He glanced up and suddenly the rain turned blood-red, and when it touched his skin, it burned, flesh melting from his bones. And Jon screamed.

He awoke breathing heavily. He knuckled his eyes and yawned. The dream was still fresh in his mind. _Seven hells, _he thought, feeling annoyed at the fact it had been weeks since he last had a pleasant dream. Why he had been having the same dream over and over was still a mystery to him. Jon would rather dream of Arya then blood and death.

The galley swayed violently and the sound of rain pelting the deck could be heard clearly. _A storm?_ Jon thought, then remembered the conversation he had with the captain the day before. He stumbled out of bed and grabbed for his clothing which was in a pile on the floor. He did his best to stay on his feet while he got dressed in the dark, but the swaying of the ship was violent and he fell awkwardly many times in the process. He cursed under his breath with each fall. There was no time to light candles, even without being outside Jon could tell the storm was fierce.

"Seven hells!" he screamed as he was thrown sideways against the side of the cabin. Jon pushed himself to his feet and fumbled for the door, pain shot up his right leg, causing him to grunt. His heart pounded and cold sweat trickled down his face. Extending both his arms he used the narrowness of the hallway to steady himself against the swaying motion. The sound of rain grew louder with each step. Jon grunted through the pain and managed to speed up, he needed to get to the deck and find out what was going on and how well they were handling the situation. Nearing the stairs that led up onto the deck, he could hear the frantic shouts of a dozen sailors. Curses and commands were being thrown around in half a dozen different tongues.

The temperature dipped suddenly just as Jon limped onto the crowded deck. Sailors floundered on deck in darkness, trying to secure any barrels or creates that would otherwise be thrown overboard. Dawn had yet to break and the dark grey-silver clouds obscured the moon. Only shivers of light cast down from the heavens with a ghostly glow. Underneath the moon, the rain moved toward them like a wraith's veil of sorrow. A winnowing wind fermented and sighed, rippling the surface of the angry sea.

The rain-shroud passed by, assaulting him with its cold tears. It soaked his jerkin and breeches completely. The rain whipped down like winter hail and streaky lightning emblazoned the sky. Jon suddenly felt the galley dip lower and lower. He limped to the left side of the ship and glanced down in confusion. He couldn't comprehend what he was seeing, the ship wasn't sinking, the seas itself was.

The bedlam of the sea caused a fierce tightness in his chest. Jon glanced up and looked at the clouds, he could swear that an old man's, spectral face was fixed in the sky where the moon should be. It wore a mask of hatred and longing and it transfixed Jon utterly. Oddly enough it reminded him of the old gods of the north. He looked at it aghast, like a wolf would stare at the night sky. The old man's eyes seemed to glare at the sea on his starboard side. Jon's own eyes followed and slowly widened as he gazed at their doom.

The galley floated motionless in the sudden calmness of the sea. The rapidly rising tide that was coming right at them roared louder as it neared. They had nowhere to go. Time seemed suspended. The closer the wave got, the taller it towered over everything else. Higher and higher it ascended, as if trying to reach the heavens itself. The shouts had all but extinguished in that moment, everyone on deck was silent as a ghost, watching as death approached.

It rushed toward them in a fury until it blocked out part of the sky itself. Jon couldn't help but stare in awe. His heart pounded against his chest and he knew he would die, but that wasn't what scared him… not truly. What scared him most was the fact that he would be breaking the one promise he had given to the only person that truly loved him. _Promise me you'll come back to me Jon, _Arya had pleaded to him in her bedchambers_, and promise me you'll never forget me because if I thought you would… I'd never let you leave. _Tears welled in his eyes. He felt ashamed. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "forgive me, little wolf." Death had come to tear the promise asunder and Jon was helpless.

The wave of destruction gaped over the galley with dire-white jaws. It was hungry and they were the meal. It crashed on top of them in one swift motion. The ship plummeted down into its milky depths, swallowed whole in a final, terrible, squeak of timber.

_"Stick them with the pointy end."_ Jon remembered telling her as cold pain washed over him. "_I know which end to use," _Arya had responded. The vastness of the ocean enveloped him whole.

Then came the darkness.

* * *

**Hope you liked it. Feel free to comment and follow.**


	5. Chapter 5: Arya

**Here is chapter 5. Hope you enjoy.**

**Chapter 5**

* * *

**Arya**

"_Awake,_" the soft voice called out from the darkness.

Arya shifted onto her side and slowly opened her eyes. The floor felt cold and damp. She sat up and rubbed her eyes trying to adjust to the unknown surroundings. "Who are you?" Arya asked, but the voice didn't responded. The only sound that could be heard was the fall of water droplets. She picked herself up from the floor and stumbled around, with her hands extended, searching. _"Nymeria… Ghost,"_ she tried to call out for the direwolves, but her throat was painfully dry and only a whimpering sound came out. _Where in the seven hells am I_, she thought, glancing around in the darkness.

A dull light from cracks to her right caught Arya's attention. She focused on the light and squinted. _A door, _she thought. The quietness and darkness made her tense up. She needed to get out and the light was her only option. Her legs felt weak, in fact her whole body did. She made for the door slowly, each step clumsy but delicate. The dampness of wood against her palms felt oddly comforting, it felt real. But how could it feel so real? She clearly remembered going to sleep in her own bedchamber. The metal handle was cold to the touch, colder then she thought possible. Arya prepared herself mentally, and then turned the knob. The door made no sound as she slowly pulled it open.

Step by step she cautiously walked out into the narrow hallway. All along the walls were lanterns, giving off a dull orange glow. The shadows they created danced on the walls, floor and ceiling. Arya paused and glanced in both directions. The absence of any doors made her nervous. She didn't know which direction to take.

"_Come,_" the soft voice called out suddenly.

Arya's heart stopped, the voice had come from her left. The eerie atmosphere was suffocating, and every instinct in her body screamed for her to run away, go anywhere but that direction. But Arya turned and continued toward where the voice had come from nevertheless.

She saw water trickling down the walls from large cracks, and where water fell mold grew. Each step she took was slower than the last. Nothing felt right and Arya didn't like it one bit. The sudden scent of the ocean washed over her and got stronger as she walked. _Just a dream, _she repeated to herself, trying to control the fear which grew with every step. Arya saw a dull light appear farther down the hallway. The lights glow was unnatural, but it seemed to call to her.

Arya couldn't believe her eyes. She stopped before a large weirwood door, mesmerized by the pure beauty of it. She stared at the face carved into the wood. "White as Ghost," she whispered. Sap, red as blood ran down from its eyes, making it look like it was weeping.

"Who are you," the face asked with a voice that sent shivers down her back.

Arya froze, staring. Sweat trickled down her cheek. Her heart pounded. She did her utmost to calm the fears that were seeping through her defences. _Just a dream._ But it felt so real, too real. How could this be a dream? "I'm Arya Stark," she replied, almost choking on the simple words.

"Why have you come?"

"I don't know where I am. Is this a dream?" If it was, she just wanted to wake up and soon.

"Yes and no," it told her, its gaze never faltering. "What you see may or may not be real."

"What do you mean?" Arya asked. But when she got no answer, she bit her lip. "Tell me!"

Silence filled the hallway.

"_Child,_" it said suddenly. "Are you sure you want to enter."

Arya leaned against the nearest wall. _Why is it being so cryptic? _Unsure of what to do, she walked toward the door. The oceans scent was strongest yet. She turned back looking into the darkness from which she had come. She frowned, not wanting to go back. She turned back gazing at the weirwood once more, wondering what could be behind the door. Logic told her not to enter, yet a feeling in her chest urged her to go on, Arya could almost feel a familiar presence on the other side.

"Child," it called to her. Arya noticed its blood red eyes staring into her eyes, her soul. "Are you sure you want to enter."

"Yes."

The large weirwood door opened slowly, revealing another hallway, but this time there were doors on each side and a final large door at the end. Arya's could hear the sounds of her own heartbeat. She noticed water seeping through from under the door nearest to her left. _Odd, _she thought and walked toward it curiously. The door was plain, made from oak. She laid her hands on the door and pressed her ear against to see if she could hear anything on the other side. All she heard was water.

Arya grabbed the handle and turned, taking a deep breath in the process. "Gods," she murmured in awe, gazing within what seemed to be the blue vastness of the ocean. She hesitated at first but got curious and brought her hand up and touched the barrier that seemed to be holding back the vast amounts of water from gushing out. Water trickled down her fingers, it felt much too real.

Debris drifted aimlessly as far as she could see. Suddenly out of the blueness, descending slowly, a wrecked ship appeared. The ships purple mast, torn off, floated away casually. Barrels, creates and broken planks, littered the waters around it. Arya squinted and noticed amongst the debris dozens and dozens of motionless bodies floating in every direction. _A shipwreck? _She thought. A gasp escaped her mouth. She stepped back and brought her hands up to her mouth in shock. Before her, floating a few feet away was Jon, white as a ghost.

"_What?_ Oh gods. Jon… what, what's going on!" Tears welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks onto her hands like a stream. She felt a stabbing pain in her chest. "_No!_" Arya screamed, furiously banging her hands against the barrier of water, trying with all her might to break it down and pull him out. She knew not if this was a dream or reality, but seeing him motionless, dead. Her heart was being ripped apart by the raw emotion. She brought her hands to her mouth once more and tried to muffle the moans of agony that were escaping her mouth.

Arya stared in shock. His eyes opened, and gazed right at her, right through her. She stumbled back, almost losing her footing. Part of her felt relieved, yet the other part felt scared. She gazed into his eyes and noticed. _Their purple._ She stepped forward and placed her palm in the center of the wall of water. What she wouldn't give to touch Jon again. "What happened to you, Jon?" she asked.

Jon's gaze fell to her palm. He mirrored her movement and brought his own hand up toward hers and pressed against the barrier. "Little wolf," he said without moving his cold blue lips.

Arya felt herself tremble at the words. "Jon," she whispered, gazing into his dark lilac eyes. "I miss you." Her heart tightened. _Just a dream!_ Arya told herself. Jon was her other heart, her soul, she couldn't and wouldn't imagine him hurt, or worst, dead. _He promised me. _This had to be dream, yet why would she be dreaming of Jon in such peril? Her dreams of him had always been pleasant.

"You must go Arya. And fear not for me," he told her as if he read her mind.

"I always fear…" Arya whispered. "You were forced to leave… because of me."

"I wouldn't change a thing," he said, pressing his forehead against the water that cruelly separated them. "It was fate. You can't fight fate, Arya. No one can." Jon gaze fell to his left. "You must go now."

"Where? I don't want to leave you." Arya wanted to stay longer and look at him; it had been months since she last saw his face so vividly. In all her other dreams, his face had been somewhat blurry, yet recognizable. But now, looking at him, it was as if he was truly in front of her. "I just want to see you once more."

"Sometimes…" Jon gave her a heart-warming smile, "different roads lead to the same castle," he said. "Not even death will separate us."

Arya blinked and he was gone, in fact, the vastness of the ocean was gone. Her eyes darted around trying to find him. She collapsed onto her knees, and brought her hands to her face, trying helplessly to contain the tears that were escaping. _What in the seven hells is going on! _She felt frustrated and that somehow that made the tears fall harder. Not even death will separate us." she echoed, letting the words sink in. Arya pushed herself back onto her feet, his smile gave her courage. She wiped the tears away. _Purple eyes, _she thought. Arya knew for certain Jon had grey eyes. _Why would he have purple eyes?_ She shook her head, pushing the thoughts aside. Now wasn't the time.

Arya glanced down the hallway toward the other doors, curiosity got the better, and she wondered if there was also something behind those doors. She walked to the nearest door, then grabbed and turned the knob. _Locked, _she thought frowning. Arya walked to six more doors before giving up. She looked over to the largest door at the end of the hallway. "Guess that's where I'm supposed to go," she mumbled and walked forward.

Arya nervously gazed at the ominous looking door. Part of her wanted to turn back, but she knew she couldn't, turning back now wasn't an option. Nearing she heard the most deafening sound; a bestial roar like none other. She covered her ears as best as she could, but it still hurt. Arya halted and gazed at the door, she was half scared that whatever made that roar might come out at any moment. Minutes passed and nothing moved. Feeling more secure, she walked to the door, pondering about what kind of creature could have made that terrible sound.

Queer engravings were everywhere in evidence on the door. In the middle she noticed words carved into it, written in the common tongue.

The eye through which I see you

Is the same eye through which you see me

My eye and your eye are one eye

One seeing

One knowing

One love

One death

Arya gently touched the carvings, wondering if she should continue. _What could it mean?_ Before she could decide the ominous looking door flung open, revealing a dirt road. Her eyes darted left and right frantically, she stepped back nervously.

"_Seven hells_," she whispered in horror.

Bodies lay left and right, limbs missing. Some were charred to an unnatural black. Swords were scattered on the ground and in severed hands. Numerous amounts of banners were scattered everywhere. Arya tried to identify the banners that she could see, but to no avail. It was carnage.

Arya stepped through the door into what appeared to be a battlefield. More like a wasteland, she thought. The surrounding trees, carts, distant houses and even the land itself was ablaze. She glanced back to the door, but she saw nothing expect more land and death. The door was gone with her only means of escape. She frowned and stumbled through the debris and bodies. _Thousands, there must be tens of thousands,_ Arya thought, gazing at the dead knights clad in odd looking armour. Nothing moved except the banners. Arya almost tripped over a banner that she had never seen before, she knelt and picked it up. A black dragon and a white wolf circled each other on a field of grey, as if they were chasing each other endlessly. Maester Luwin had taught them the banners of all the houses in Westeros, but Arya seldom payed attention. She frowned and sighed, dropping the banner. Arya had no idea which house it belonged to.

Arya walked over the bodies and limbs. The stench of death was unbearable. She covered her mouth and nose with her hands and jogged, not wanting to spend any more time in this hell. She came to a halt and tried to catch her breath, she had run for what seemed like hours. She gazed up toward the hill. The carnage of death was well behind her by now. She made her way up the hill, looking left, right and over her shoulder just in case. Arya had seen nothing but death thus far; she couldn't help but feel scared. Finally reaching the top she turned around to once again look at the devastation she had just passed. Houses and forests in the distance were burning in hellish flames which had a tint of blue, it seemed like the whole land was burning. Arya turned back around and walked.

An hour past before the wide dirt road split into two smaller ones, each going in different directions. Glancing both ways, Arya closed her eyes for a brief moment and decided to go left which lead into a valley. Snow started to fall as she made her way. At the far end of the valley, between the jagged cliffs, on the top of a massive block of rock, was a huge building. It resembled a castle, with its tall towers, thick columns and massive keep that towered over everything else. The towers and walls climbed up the rock wall on both sides, and the roof was covered with snow. A wide stone staircase lead up to a tall oaken door, where an enormous dragon and direwolf made of blue-grey marble stood guard.

By the time she reached the stairs, the snowfall had become much heavier. Overhead, the clouds darkened. Gazing up, she noticed the whiteness of the snow start to change. The lower it fell, the darker the hue seemed to change, until it turned from the pureness of white to the redness of crimson. Lifting her arm high, she felt a snow flake touch then melt in her hand. Where water should have trickled down her hands, blood did. _It's warm, _she thought, looking at the blood run down her palm.

Arya flinched when she heard the sudden roar of lighting. Feeling the warm snow melt in her hair she bolted up the stairs, two steps at a time. Reaching the top she ran toward the marble guards near the large oak door, until she was out of the crimson snows reach.

"_Arya… come to me._"

"Who are you?" She shouted. The voice had come from within the castle. Arya waited awhile to see if the voice would come again, but it never did. Nervous but determined to find out whose voice that belonged to she pushed open the door and stepped inside. Lanterns hung from the walls, lighting the hallway. The glow was oddly comforting. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched as the door slowly closed.

"Arya," a familiar voice called out.

Snapping her head back, she stared at the open door at the end of the hallway. Her heart pounded against her chest. The voice had come from the direction of the door. She approached cautiously, preparing for any surprise attack, though what could she really do? The mental preparation calmed her nevertheless. Arya walked through the open door. She could not believe her eyes, standing near the large throne on a raised dais was Jon. Her heart skipped a beat. She gazed at him, he had grown older, a few years undoubtedly. She observed the crown on his head, made of dragonbone and precious purple stones. _This is what a king should like,_ she thought to herself, as she neared closer to him.

She came into touching distance and grinned. _They are so beautiful, _she thought, gazing into his dark lilac eyes which glimmered in the lanterns yellow-orange glow.

"Arya, oh how I've missed your smile, your eyes, your scent." Jon said.

Blood was rushing to her cheeks by the time he was done talking. Arya frowned when she realized all this could be a simple dream. "Jon… could this be a dream, I'm not sure what's real anymore."

"It is," he said. "But it's not the kind of dream your thinking. This is a prophetic dream, Arya. It only shows the possible future. Only some of what you see might come to be true."

Before she could speak, she noticed two big azure eyes appear behind Jon, staring right at her. Arya never felt this kind of fear before. She stepped back, her legs trembling. _A dragon! _Arya thought, watching the onyx colored beast slowly walk out from the shadows and stand next to Jon.

Gently he started to caress the side of the beast. "Relax, she won't bite you. Her name is Skyfyre. She's my dragon."

"She's beautiful," Arya blurted out. Feeling more secure, she approached the dragon and gently caressed the side of her face; Skyfyre lowered herself onto her belly and relaxed, letting Arya massage her some more. The onyx dragon's scales were hot to the touch. Arya swallowed nervously, suddenly remembering what she had witnessed outside. _prophetic dream. _Could what she saw outside really be the future? "Outside, when I was walking here, there were so many bodies. What in seven hells happened?" she asked, not bothering to mention the blood snow.

"War, Arya. You have to get away before it's too late, do you understand. War will break out. I don't want you caught up in it. Losing you would crush me. I just want you to be—"

Before he could finish Arya slapped him.

"Arya?" he said shocked, massaging his cheek which turned a bright crimson.

"_You._" Arya glared at him. "You always worry about me. But what about you, huh? How do you think I feel! I'm always worrying if you're safe, if you're even alive. Do you even think about how I feel! I just—why are you so god damn selfish!" she screamed at him and started to pound on his chest, eventually throwing her hands around him in a tight embrace.

"Arya, you must find me, before all hell breaks loose, before the war."

"What war, Jon?" she asked.

Before he could reply, he slowly started to disappear, his skin becoming transparent.

"Arya looks like our times up. Remember, find me… you must remember." Jon leaned down and kissed her forehead before kissing down toward her lips.

She awoke with a gasp.

* * *

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	6. Chapter 6: Jon

**Here is chapter 6. Enjoy!  
**

**Chapter 6**

* * *

**Jon**

Jon heard a faint voice call for him, but couldn't comprehend what it was trying to say. Blurred images of faces peered down at him, then darkness. He faded in and out of consciousness. He couldn't tell if he was dreaming or not. One moment he was on-board the _Merlin King, _heading for Valyria, the next he felt his body being thrown around, with such violence it tore the air right out of him, the same way Arya used to dangle her doll when she was small, swinging it like a morningstar when menaced by anything she disliked. Jon groaned with every exhalation, he just wanted to hear the voice more clearly.

_No, not again, _he thought, desperately trying to fend off the darkness. It scared him, dream or not. He forced every bit of energy within himself to open his eyes once more, but he couldn't focus. He heard someone say his name. "_Jon," _it pleaded, "_please, you have to come back to me." _He tried to answer, but he only heard a high pitched sound like that of a child's. It only added to his confusion. Jon's eyes widened as the blurred faces disappeared and Arya came forward, glaring at him.

"Jon, are you just going to give up and die, without even fighting? Arya asked sadly. _This can't be real, _Jon thought. Everywhere he looked, he only saw whiteness, like freshly fallen snow_. "_Do you even remember the promise you made to me. How will you come back to me, when you can't even keep yourself safe?"

"Arya—"

"No _excuses_!" she screamed. "All that's left for you to do is to wake up, Jon. If you don't, you will die. Is that the legacy you want for yourself, to just die without anyone knowing what happened to you? I will live the rest of my life believing you abandoned me, forgot about me. Don't you even love me?"

"Of course I love you. Everything I do is for you," Jon pleaded for understanding.

"For me? Don't make me laugh Jon! You left me alone, while you ran off on your adventure," she said as the white void enveloped her whole. "You left me," her voice echoed until there was only silence.

"Arya!" Jon shouted, running forward. He needed to tell her how much he loved her and that he would never abandon her willingly. Even though this was a dream, he still needed to say it.

"Still not awake?"

"Who?" Jon said, turning around. The whiteness dispersed and before him stood a ruined castle.

"Do you not know me?" the voice asked with a heartbreaking tone.

Looking farther down toward the crumbling castle, Jon saw a man leaning against the wall of the castles tallest keep. Harp in hand the man gazed back at him. "Who are you?" Jon asked, but got no response. He saw silver hair sway gracefully over the man's shoulders. Jon watched as he approached, even though he had never seen him before, there was something very familiar about him. _Targaryen? _Jon thought, gazing at the man's dark lilac eyes. Why did he feel so familiar?

The harp in his hand turned into a blue winter rose. "Your mother's favorite," he said sniffing at the flower. "You must awake."

The realization was sudden. "_Father?_" Jon's heart pounded. This was only a dream, how could he be seeing his father? When he had never seen him before, save for the descriptions that other people had given.

Rhaegar Targaryen smiled. "You must awake," he repeated, softly this time.

"I want to, but I don't know what's real anymore," Jon admitted. He felt tired, so tired. Dream after dream, he had no idea what was reality anymore. _I just want her, _the thought pained him_._

"You do know, you've always known deep inside. Awake and live, it is not your time to depart from this world. If not for yourself then awake for Arya. You love her do you not?"

Jon nodded. "With all my heart, and so much more. More than anyone will ever know."

His father's expression saddened. "Awake then, awake and protect her from the darkness that's going to surround her, consuming everything she holds dear. The monsters are going to steal her smile." Jon felt his heart tighten. "Fight for her Jon. Fight for her like I did for your mother." Rhaegar approach and placed a hand on Jon's shoulder. "Awake and save her from the darkness." He handed Jon the winter rose. "You must save her."

Jon brought the flower up and sniffed, taking in the rich fragrance. Memories of winter snows flooded his mind. He closed his eyes as the sound of Arya's laughter filled the surroundings of his memory, he could still see her bright smile clear as day. He felt his hand shake, anger swelling up within him. _I will never let anyone hurt her, body or soul._

**-0-**

His eyes fluttered open, the sudden brightness dazing him. The onslaught of sunlight left him feeling nauseous and hot. _Water, _he thought, the dryness in his mouth painful. Beneath his back he felt something soft and warm. _Sand, _he thought while his futile efforts to sit upright left him breathless, every inch of his body aching. Deciding to rest for a while longer his mind wondered back to the dream he had. Though he could only remember bits and pieces. The more he thought about it, the more blurry the images got. _Save her, _he remembered someone tell him.

_Save her, _the thought gave him a sudden boost of energy. He managed to force his body upright. Jon used both his hands and knees to stand. Breathing heavily, he managed a few steps before he stumbled back onto his knees. He sighed in annoyance; the sand wasn't helping his efforts.

Jon pictured Arya's face, those soft lips of hers. Struggling against the warm sand he pushed himself back up onto his feet, the thought of Arya always seemed to push him past his limits. Wobbling side to side he tried to steady himself while he scouted his surroundings, simply standing was exhausting. _I should get to the trees and rest, _he thought, gazing at the shade the trees created. The sun was hot and burned his skin and he needed relief. Jon grunted with each step, his legs pulsed with hot pain. Jon knew should he fall back down, he wouldn't have the energy to get back up. Reaching the trees he felt relief surge through him. The shade felt heavenly. He leaned against the nearest tree and slid down to rest.

_Water, I need to find water, _he thought, licking his dry cracked lips. His body ached, but he had to find water, or he would die. Jon pushed himself back up and leaned against the tree, looking around trying to decide which direction he should take. Everything looked the same, so he just decided to walk forward and pray. Deeper and deeper he traversed through the forest. The sudden realization that he had no weapon on him left him had no idea where he was, and if he should run into people… would they help him or kill him? All these unknown factors made him bit his lip. Pushing the thoughts aside, he continued to walk, trying to be as quiet as possible.

Hours of walking blindly through dense bushes and trees, Jon stumbled onto a dirt road._ Looks man made, _he thought with relief, _It's been used recently, which would mean there should be a town nearby. _For the past few hours he pondered about where he was and how he had survived. He remembered the monstrous wave crashing on top of the _Merlin King_. He should have died then, but by some miracle he managed to survive, and Jon was more determined to live than ever now. Surviving a shipwreck only to die of thirst, left a bad taste in his mouth. _I need water. _He licked his dry lips and followed the tracks toward what he hoped would be his salvation.

Jon lost track of time, he just kept walking and walking through the greenness of his surroundings, each step slower than the last. He found a long stick at the base of a large redwood and used that to support himself. Water was all he could think about, that and Arya. He refused to die like this. Jon pushed through his tiredness and pain and walked on. Trees started to disperse the farther he walked, and he could see mountains now in the distance, their peaks white with snow. Even though his body ached, skin burned and throat pulsed with pain after each swallow, he still managed to take in the beauty of his surroundings.

Fresh imprints of hooves were more in evidence as he made for a steep hill just a quarter mile from where he was. _Horses,_ he thought, energy starting to surge through him. The more fresh tracks would mean more traffic of people, which meant a town was nearby. The journey was slow, his steps clumsy and sluggish but he pushed past the pain and headed for the hill.

"_Fuck,_" Jon murmured, reaching the base of the hill. On any other day when he had his full strength, he would have just run up the hill and wouldn't even have broken a sweat. But now, gazing at the steepness, he was all but ready to give up. Why he started to move, he didn't really know. His legs pulsed hot with pain with every step. The sound of his grunts was loud enough to scare off the local wildlife. _Water, _he repeated to himself over and over. The pain he felt was unbearable but he pushed the pain aside and kept the pace. The beauty of his surroundings was all but lost in his ascent up the treacherous hill. The only thing he could focus on was water.

Managing to reach the top he collapsed onto his knees and gazing down upon his salvation. Dozens of foreign looking buildings made of wood were spread around the village. There was an odd beauty to it all. On the outskirts of the village Jon spotted farmers tending to fields that were flooded with murky water. Dirt roads filled with mules dragging carts entwined around the timber buildings, fields and large trees that had pink petals growing from the branches. The majority of life he saw was around the village center.

Jon's mouth watered as the thought of food and water. Unbound energy rushed through him, the pain almost disappeared. He got to his feet, wiped the tears away and broke into a run, heading down the hill. Grunts and noisy gasps of breath were the only sounds he heard as he neared the village. His only focus, water. The energy soon wore off and every step was agonizing once more. He slowly started to lose consciousness by the time he was at the entrance to the village. _Damn it, I need to stay awake_. Jon fought to stay awake, but he was losing.

"You don't look so well," asked a girl who looked to be about his own age.

"_Water,_" he desperately tried to say before collapsing unconscious.

**-0-**

"Boy. Can you hear me? Wake up!"

Jon could barely understand what was going on around him, his body felt like it had been trampled on. Never had he felt this dehydrated before. "Water, _please._" The words stung his throat. Suddenly, hot pain shot across his face. Confused, Jon opened his eyes and brought his hand up to his cheek. Even that simple act, left him breathless and his arm aching.

"Boy! Are you a spy? What are you doing here!" the man shouted, back handing Jon's face once more.

Jon grunted.

"Wha-why?" he said bewildered, blinking to make his eyes focus. When he got no response he asked, "where am I?" Jon tried his best not to show any fear, it was obvious that he wasn't welcome. _He thinks I'm a spy,_ Jon thought, confused at the accusation against him. Why would they suspect him of being a spy? It didn't make any sense. "Please. I just want some water. I'm not a spy," he pleaded at the man that had hit him.

"Kasumi, bring our _guest_ some water," the man said, glancing over his shoulder toward the door. As soon as he said it, his eyes as black as onyx was right back staring at him.

With great exertion, Jon pulled himself upright. Looking around the room he noticed how different it was, the walls looked thin, as if it was made of paper. _The beds uncomfortable, _he thought, noticing how stiff his shoulders and back were. Jon studied the stern looking man, his lean but muscular frame covered by a modest grey-black doublet over a grey tunic with matching breeches. His face clean-shaven and his black hair trimmed neatly, he looked like someone with power.

The girl with skin as white as snow returned with the cup of water. "You're that girl from before," he thought out loud, grabbing for the cup. The cold water caressed his throat. He had never tasted water that delicious. "Thank you. K-Kasumi was it?" Jon asked. _Weird name,_ he thought while studying her features, never had he seen anyone at Winterfell that had the same look. Unnaturally straight silky black hair that fell below her collarbones, a straight-edged nose just like her fathers, and eyes that were big and black, he found the shape kind of odd, but it had its own appeal.

"Uh-huh," she answered, her cherry lips curved into a smile as she noticed Jon staring. "Why were you so hurt?" Kasumi asked.

"A very long story." He didn't want to talk about it, and speaking alone made him his throat feel extremely uncomfortable.

Jon's stomach rumbled fiercely, causing him to blush a shade of crimson in embarrassment. She giggled at his reaction. "Father." She turned to face him. "Can he stay for dinner? Oh please father," she said with a sweet voice.

"But of course, he still has questions to answer." He looked at Jon suspiciously. "Rest here, while I get the cooks to prepare some food." Kasumi suddenly poked him on his side, "You don't look like anyone I've seen before, where are you from?" she asked, eagerly waiting for his answer.

"Well I was brought up in a place called Winterfell." Jon noticed her smile brighten. "So where am I," Jon asked, he had never seen a room or village like this before, everything felt so queer, even the clothing she was wearing. Her t-shaped, straight-lined blue robe with the hem down around her ankles was something Jon had never seen before. It had light-blue collars and long, wide sleeves that were embroidered with flowers. The robe wrapped around her body, with the left side over the right and it was all secured by a sash which was tied behind her back.

"What are you wearing? I've never seen anything like it," Jon asked.

"Ah, this?" Kasumi gazed down. "It's called a kimono. It's very comfortable." She grinned. "So, what's your name?" She asked him.

"Jon Snow."

Kasumi gave him an odd look. "Sounds foreign, you said you were from this _Winterfell_. Where exactly is that located?" she asked.

"Seven Kingdom's of Westeros."

"Kasumi!" her father shouted at her suddenly. "Stop loafing around and come help prepare the table."

Kasumi sighed and turned toward the door. "Alright!" she shouted back annoyed. "By the way, father left you some fresh cloths over there, they should fit you. Get dressed and come have dinner, you must be starving." Kasumi padded out of the room.

They were neatly placed near the side of his bed, they looked like clothing from Westeros: basic dark-brown breeches, a black belt, white tunic, and a worn out doublet of grey-black. He changed into his new cloths and made his way out of the guestroom. _Gods, that smells so good. _Jon's mouth watered. The scent had come from his left. Sniffing at the air and containing his drools best he could he walked toward the fragrance. At the end of the narrow hallway he turned right into the Great Hall. It was tiny compared to the Great Hall back in Winterfell, only a few dozen men could dine in this one. In the middle was an open hearth. Near the south wall was the larger of the tables and that's where the food was being served.

Jon was so hungry he didn't even care about asking questions. All that mattered was the food. He grabbed whatever was in reach and started to stuff it in his mouth, as if his life depended on it. Fresh bread was served straight out of the oven. Two plates of ribs roasted in a crust of garlic and herbs were placed next to the Salads of sweetgrass, spinach, and plums. Two jugs were placed next to each other, one containing cold water while the other red wine and in the middle of the table was the most delicious Leg of lamb Jon had ever seen. He cut a large piece and put it on his plate and when he bit into it, it tasted of mint and honey and cloves.

Near the far right, Jon noticed a big bowl of the smallest snow-white colored seeds he had ever seen. Curious, he used the wooden spoon to put a healthy amount of the steaming seeds onto his plate. "They're delicious!" he blurted out, savoring the taste in his mouth. Never had he eaten seeds like this before. Swallowing he grabbed for the hot bread and continued to eat in a less then polite way.

"Rice, they are called rice. It's a specialty in these parts." Akira poured himself a cup of water. "I am Akira Ashina by the way, the clan leader of this village." He ate in a more humble manner. "What's your name?" he said, after chewing and swallowing.

Before Jon could reply, Kasumi answered for him. "His name is Jon Snow. He said he came from Westeros."

"Long way from home." Akira gazed at him suspiciously. "Why are you here, _Jon snow_?"

"I got ship wrecked. We were on our way to Valyria, but a sudden storm destroyed us. I survived somehow, though I don't know how." Jon continued to eat the rice and poured himself a cup of red wine to wash away the bitter thoughts of the ordeal. _Arya, I will come back no matter what. _He wanted to see her so much. The feeling of not knowing how she was doing was unbearable at the best of times.

"That cursed place… Why in the hells would you want to venture into that desolated island?"

Jon felt embarrassed. _I was naive and took a gamble, _he thought bitterly. "I was a fool, and it almost got me killed. By the way, I've been wondering, where exactly am I?"

"You're in Nihon. You said you were headed to Valyria. Nihon is a few hundred miles west of Valyria, and about a hundred miles south-east of Lys."

"Nihon, I think I've heard that name before. Anyway, where in Nihon are we exactly?" Jon asked.

"Mutsu province. We're in the Ashina clan's village. As I said before, I'm the current clan leader. You should be safe for now; you'll be under my protection. Also, I'm sorry that I suspected you before, though I still have my doubts. Foreigners aren't allowed beyond our trade ports. The noble clans fear that foreign influence will disrupt their power. They are ruthless, Jon Snow. If they find out or even suspect that a village is hiding a foreigner, they march onto that village with fire and steel and burn it to the ground." Jon could notice the anger rising in his voice. "They cannot find out that you're here." Akira finished talking and ate a bit more, the atmosphere had turned sour.

"Will you serve me up to these noble clans? Or kill me so no one ever knows that a foreigner came to this village." The bluntness of Jon's question took Akira by surprise. Jon knew that if it came down to the village or him, they would most likely cut his throat and make a gift of him to the noble clans. _Seven hells, I survive a shipwreck and end up in another dangerous place._ Jon started to feel dizzy, his exhaustion started to take its toll. Trying to stand he collapsed onto the wooden floor. The next thing he remembered was being help back to the guestroom. Sleep took him within seconds of falling onto the bed.

* * *

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	7. Chapter 7: Arya

**Here is the seventh chapter. Enjoy!**

**Chapter 7**

* * *

**Arya**

The orange-red and purple hue of dawn was breaking over the horizon as the courtyard rang to the sounds of sword practice.

Under grey wool breeches, matching tunic, and a heavy fur cloak with the direwolf emblem embroidered onto it, sweat trickled icily down Arya's chest as she pressed the attack against the odd shaped straw man, which was filled with cloth tightly wrapped around straw, making it tough against blunt edged swords. In her bedchambers she would practice her thrusts with her Braavosi blade, Needle, but here in the courtyard she used a blunt shortsword, practicing her slashes. Breathing heavy, Arya held the sword with both hands. She could only hold the sword for so long, her skinny arms burned from the weight of it.

Breath steamed before her with every exhalation. With the sun all but gone, it had gotten much to cold. Sheathing the shortsword in its plain black scabbard Arya walked to the Great Keep. The short journey left her breathless and sweating, even though it was so cold. She had trained longer then she should have, which left her aching and weak. The stairs were a nightmare, each step sending hot pulses up her legs.

Nymeria was curled up asleep beside Ghost near the door, but she lifted her head at the sound of Arya's boots entering the room. The direwolf's yellow eyes were darker than citrines and wiser than men. Arya knelt, scratched her ear, and noticed Ghost lift his head at the sudden intrusion. His red eyes which grew lonelier since Jon's departure all those months ago gazed at her for a brief moment before lowering his head back down onto the soft blankets.

"Don't worry," she told Ghost, massaging his neck softly. "He will come back."

Standing back up, Arya hung the sheathed sword from a hook in the stone wall next to the door and glanced at the growing direwolves once more before methodically beginning to strip off her cloak, breeches, tunic and sweat-soaked woolen smallclothes.

The weariness came on her suddenly, as she donned fresh silk smallclothes and a blue-black nightgown that was her everyday nightwear. Arya collapsed onto her bed, her head sinking into the pillow. She was tired. Sleep had always felt better after she trained. _I'm getting really good at it._ _If Jon was here, I'm sure he would praise me, unlike some other people._ Sighing, she pulled the thin fur blanket over her petite frame. Bringing the pillow she took from Jon's room close to her face and inhaling its feint scent, Arya let Sleep take her.

**-0-**

Sky-blue eyes gazed at her from within the void of darkness and suddenly Arya was awake, her breaths short and fast. The pale light of morning was slanting through her window, yet she felt as sick and achy as if she had not slept at all. She bit her lip and shifted around to try and get more comfortable under the blanket. _Why in the seven hells can't I just have a normal dream for once, _she thought, keeping her eyes shut. The dream was always silent and full of darkness, save for those blue eyes that she—no matter how hard she tried—couldn't seem get out of her thoughts. Arya had been having that same dream for the past few days now and she knew it was somehow related to that other weird dream that she had a week past. But no matter how hard she tried, Arya could only remember bits and pieces from that other dream.

"Skyfyre," she whispered and sighed. It was the only word she remembered so far. But how could _Skyfyre_ be related to those sky-blue eyes she was dreaming about? Arya shifted onto her side and pushed the thoughts aside. All this thinking so early in the morning was much to annoying and she felt sick. Rubbing her stomach to try and relieve some of the pain, she felt something moist run down her thigh, in fact she felt something sticky on her thighs. Thinking the worst Arya threw back the blanket and sat upright to gaze at her lower body, it was much worse then she first thought, blood had stained through her smallclothes.

Climbing out of bed, she went to the basin and washed between her legs, scrubbing away all the stickiness. By the time she was done, the water was pink with blood. "Seven hells," Arya murmured, watching as blood trickled down her inner thighs, forming crimson streaks. Then she remembered the bedclothes. She walked back to the bed while pressing a cloth between her legs and stared in annoyance at the dark red stain and the tale it told. She pulled the sheet from the bed, and the stained blanket as well. _I'll have to wash them._ Then she realized that the blood had soaked through the sheet into the featherbed. She was struggling to bundle up the blood-stained sheets, when the door opened and she heard her mother gasp.

**-0-**

The next few days Arya noticed women muttering and looking at her strangely. She was a women now, her first flowering had come and gone and would pay her a rude visit each month, again and again. She sighed at the thought. Between the sick, achy feeling and blood it was just plain annoying. Men had it easy. After her mother had bathed her and gave her a special cloth to wear between her legs whenever her moonblood was upon her, they had talked for what seemed like an eternity about what it meant and her new responsibilities. She rolled her eyes, remembering the conversation. So what if she was a woman now, it didn't mean she had to stop doing all the things she loved.

And they couldn't stop her. Even as the weeks and months went by, Arya still kept up the rigorous sword training and on the odd occasion when the weather was good, horse riding. Sansa had all but given up on her by now. Whenever she had tried to get Arya to wear some of the dresses that she owned, Arya would roll her eyes and either attempt to change to topic or simply walk away. It wasn't that she didn't like the dresses, just the way her sister kept insisting about it. _It's not like gowns of silk and satin makes someone beautiful._ Jon had told her often that she was pretty and beautiful and she wasn't even wearing any of those dresses at the time.

_"It is expected of a women of noble birth to act like a lady," _her mother and sister would say and often, whenever they saw her doing something that they deemed unladylike. Arya would throttle the next person to tell her that. Why couldn't they just understand? She would rather swordfight then needlework, horse ride then dance, explore then sing. Arya had given up trying to explain it to them. No one seemed to understand, save for Jon who was god knows where. Some nights she would stay awake and gaze at the stone ceiling while she pondered about Jon's whereabouts. There were nine free cities in Essos and he could be in any one of them. All Arya wanted was for him to return back to her in one piece.

**-0-**

Arya returned to her room after being forced to take part in the womanly arts again, which she despised with a passion. _How can Sansa sit there for hours, talking and sewing, it's fucking horrible!_ She thought bitterly as she changed into something more comfortable. The bedchamber felt empty ever since she had started to let the two direwolves out so they could explore and do whatever else wolves did.

It was almost nightfall when the door opened and Arya saw her mother walk in. "Arya, we need to talk," Catelyn Stark said with a sullen look.

"Am I in trouble?" She frowned, trying to remember if she had done something wrong. Arya had started to sneak out at the dead of night, once everyone was asleep. The godswood was the place she went to most. Arya liked listening to the leaves rustle in the wind as she practiced her thrusts with Needle. Or was it all those funny pranks she had pulled on Sansa. She almost giggled at the thought of the last prank.

"No. We just received a letter from the king. Your father and I are summoned to Kings Landing on some urgent business. We will be leaving on the morrow."

"_Oh…_ do you have to go, mother?"

"We have no choice, Arya. When the king calls, you answer." Catelyn frowned. "While we are gone, Robb will become lord of Winterfell until our return so please don't hassle him or make his job any harder then it will be… I would have loved to bring you with us, maybe teach you to be more ladylike, but your brothers and sister needs you here. You will help Sansa look after Bran and especially Rickon since Robb will be too busy with his lordly duties."

"When will you return, mother?" she asked, trying to sound concerned. Deep inside Arya Stark was jumping with joy. She would undoubtedly miss them both, but at least until they returned she wouldn't be hassled about becoming a _lady_. Even if Robb become the lord of Winterfell, he wouldn't scream at her if he saw her practicing with Needle or horse riding, he would understand unlike her mother and father. All they seemed to care about was for her to be a lady… she especially hated it when they started talking about marriages.

"Hopefully in just a few short months. Don't worry, Arya. I have to go talk with your father now. I will see you tomorrow at the morning feast."

Arya collapsed onto her bed after her mother left. Lately Arya had started to feel really worried about Jon, months apart without contact started to take its toll on her and the fact she was having trouble sleeping was proof. _Wish I could have gone with him._ She let out a long sigh. She spent hours just staring up at the ceiling, trying to remember more from the prophetic dream she had months ago.

_Arya, you must find me, before all hell breaks loose, before the war. _Arya spent hours trying to figure out what he meant. She was slowly starting to piece everything together, though it was still hazy. Bits and pieces came to her at random, she could remember all the emotions she had felt; sadness, happiness and confusion. _I know it was Jon talking to me, I remember him. But… why did he have purple eyes._ It was well known that Targaryen's had purple eyes and he was at least half Targaryen, but he always had dark grey eyes, like her own. The words he had told her was what made her head hurt the worst. "What war," she mumbled into her pillow, falling asleep.

She dreamed of a shadowy forest. The atmosphere polluted with fear. Arya knew she had to run, something was chasing her, and she couldn't let it catch her. She darted left and right dodging trees and bushes and roots. She heard a bestial roar behind her, which made her run faster and faster. The sound felt so familiar. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the dark-green and brown trees rustle violently side to side. Whatever was chasing her was closing in and it made her heart pound painfully against her chest.

"Fuck!" she screamed as a sudden warm gust blew her off her feet. She fell, face first onto the ground before her. Arya sat up onto her knees trying to catch her breath. Her heart stopped when she realized there was a presence behind her. Arya froze, her body refusing to move, she felt hot steaming breath on her back. Whatever was chasing her was behind her now. Swallowing nervously, with nowhere to run, she slowly glanced around.

Arya gasped as she looked upon the onyx dragon with bright azure eyes that shone like the blueness of the sky. Everything made sense in that moment. "I remember now. _Skyfyre,_" she said, standing up and turning around to face the beast. Arya squinted and saw someone on the back of the dragon. But the figure was too shadowed for her to be able to make out who it was.

"Wake up!" Arya heard her sister's voice call.

Ignoring the voice, she stepped forward and raised her hand; the shadow was calling to her. Then suddenly the darkness turned to light and she was in her bedchambers once more. "Skyfyre," Arya mumbled, sitting upright. Once she saw Sansa standing on the side of her bed with her arms crossed she said, "Seven hells Sansa, why did you wake me?" Arya sighed, and fell back onto the softness of the featherbed.

"The feast is happening as we speak, and you're missing it," Sansa told her. "Get dressed and come down quickly. You don't want to miss out on seeing father and mother leave, do you?"

Arya agreed, even though she still sleepy. "I'll come down shortly."

Sansa nodded and left.

**-0-**

The Great Hall was filled with laughter and music. Arya sat near her siblings on the raised platform near the south wall and started picking out which ever dish caught her eye. Since Eddard and Catelyn Stark were departing for Kings Landing, the cooks had prepared a special feast in their honor. Even though many of her favorite dishes were in evidence, Arya paid little mind to them after putting it on her own plate. Her thoughts were on the dragon and weirdly vivid dreams she had been having for the past few months. Between dragons and wolves, it was the only dreams she had. Seldom did she dream of Jon anymore and that made her sad.

"Arya. Stop playing with your food." Lord Eddard Stark scolded her. His eyes softened and he said, "Is everything alright?"

"Oh, sorry father, I was just thinking."

"Arya, when your mother and I depart for kings landing tomorrow, I need you to behave and look after your siblings alright? And follow Septa Mordane's every instruction. And just… don't cause too much problems for Robb or anyone else."

Arya frowned at her father's remarks. "Father, I had been meaning to ask this for a while, why didn't you tell me Jon was my cousin?" Arya asked. When Jon had come to her room before leaving, he had told her about his true parents. He had also told her not to mention it to anyone but the curiosity had been eating at her for months. Why she was asking now, she didn't really know. But Arya felt like it might be the last chance to ask.

"Jon told you?" he asked, his eyes downcast, with a touch of sadness. "Arya, it's complicated. I know I should have told you all but… I was afraid that the king would find out and—"

Arya noticed her father's discomfort on the subject. "Don't worry about it father, I was curious is all. It is kind of exciting to have a Targaryen cousin." She couldn't help but smile.

"Gods know just where that damn stupid boy is," her father mumbled. "He shouldn't have left like that, if he just had come to me…" After Jon had left, her father had sent a search party after him. But they had found no trace of him; the snow had covered his tracks.

"He is fine, I just know it." Arya was certain, he had to be alright, but she worried nonetheless. _He promised. _"He will come back," she said. _"I need him," _she would have added but decided not to. After he had left, her mother had scolded her harshly about their less than innocent embrace in the godswood. Arya refused to tell them about the night before when they had kissed on the bridge. That was just between her and Jon and everyone else could just be damned to the seven hells. Never had Arya been angrier then that day. The way her mother had talked about him made her want to scream. She made it out like he had forced himself onto her and Arya denied that accusation furiously. She was just as guilty as him, but her mother refused to believe it. Even now, thinking about it made her blood boil.

Eddard Stark nodded. "Don't worry about him." It was as if he had read Arya's mind. "And don't worry about your mother and me. You'll see, we will all live under the same roof again," he said, then hesitated. "Even Jon…"

Arya nodded. _Even Jon, _she echoed in her mind and started eating.

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**Hope you enjoyed.**


	8. Chapter 8: Jon

**Here is the eighth chapter. **

**Hope you enjoy the Japanese culture that I integrated into the story. G.R.R.M has not yet introduce any Asian culture into a song of fire and ice so I thought I'd give a shot with my story. (I love the Katana, its such a beautifully crafted sword)  
**

**Have fun reading.**

**Chapter 8**

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**Jon**

"Keep your hands firmly clutched around the sword!" Akira Ashina's voice echoed through the brown-white training hall.

The doors and windows in the Ashina clan's main training hall which the locals called "dojo" were built of rice-white paper over a frame of ironwood which held together a lattice of wood. Jon had never seen such queer looking buildings before, but over these last few months, he had gotten used to the sight. Many times during storms, Jon had feared the houses would be blown away by a gust of wind, but they were stronger then they looked, to his surprise.

"Yes, like that. Now practice what I showed you before. Keep the katana high over your head, and then bring it down in a straight swift motion. Yes, like that. Repeat it half a hundred times," Akira told him and sat on his knees, his eyes never leaving. "Any mistakes and you must add another ten cuts."

The curved blade rose and fell in a straight line, just like Akira had taught him. Jon was sweating from the simple act, or it had looked simple at first. But he soon came to learn the difficulty, precision and concentration which were needed in order to perform the technique. Each swing brought forth a grunt and dull hot pain up his arms, but he continued nevertheless. _Through pain we grow stronger, _he told himself, as he cut away.

"A practitioner of kenjutsu," Akira began to say as Jon was half-way through his cutting of air, "relies on the conditions of the ground, light source, as well as the opponents capabilities, before implementing a practical attack. The attack is not set on any particular weapon or move to capitulate, nor is there a predisposed target or trajectory. Any exposed part of the opponents body is a possible target."

Jon nodded. Akira had a habit of teaching while he was practicing his techniques, not that Jon minded as it helped him remember better. On the fiftieth cut, relief surged through him. His arms ached and the cold sweat that ran down his chest and back felt icy. "I told you I could do it without making a mistake," Jon said then grinned at his own accomplishment.

"Indeed. You're technique has improved a great deal in these last few months. I'm impressed, truly, you're natural skill with swords is astonishing. I was honestly surprised when you first came to me and asked me to train you. At first I did not think you had it in you, but I soon learned the folly of my thoughts. Though, you're nowhere near as good as my daughter. She is after all a prodigy when it comes to swords." Akira smirked at his own remarks. "Keep up your hard work and you will become as good as her, one day."

Ever since Jon's wounds completely healed and his strength returned, he had been vigorously training in the Nihon style of swordsmanship which was so different to the Westerosi style that Jon didn't think he would be any good at it. For years Sir Rodrik Cassel had taught him the iron dance of Westeros, the knight's dance, which was just hacking and hammering at the enemy until one died. Kenjutsu was art, and Jon was taught to never waste a slash and always seek out the opponent's weakness first.

"I will," Jon replied humbly.

"Jon, today I will teach you about the Bushido code, I believe it's similar to chivalry back in Westeros. I am sure you're familiar with chivalry?" Akira said and waited until Jon nodded. "Good. Bushido means the _way of the warrior_, it is a code of moral principles; this code is unuttered and unwritten. You must conduct yourself with calmness, fairness, loyalty and justice. And ultimately die a good death with your honor intact."

Job listened keenly to his detailed explanation.

"Now that we got that out of the way, I will now tell you about the seven virtues of Bushido. Righteousness, courage, benevolence, respect, honesty, honor and loyalty are what make up the way of the warrior. As I said before it is similar to chivalry. I am sure you know what they all mean. Once you master these, your own Bushido will be unbreakable. Remember Jon, everyone's Bushido is different and everyone must find their own."

"I understand," Jon said.

"You're strong, I have seen it with my own eyes, but once you master your own Bushido, you will truly be an unstoppable warrior, because you will know what you fight for. Find yourself and find what you want to protect and honor it till death."

"I already know what I want to protect, I have always known, and it will never change," Jon said sternly, thinking of Arya.

"Good, now practice the feigning technique. Remember that cutting, jabbing, and thrusting techniques must be all preceded by a feint, also practice you're parrying and footwork, they are just as important," Akira said, looking past Jon.

Kasumi entered the dojo, yawning. "You always wake to early," she said, knuckling her eyes. "You could have at least woken me up."

"Kasumi," Akira called out." I have to depart for the trade port now, come and spar with Jon. I will be back sometime on the morrow. I don't want both of you slacking while I'm gone."

Jon and Kasumi exchanged looks then nodded in agreement. Akira walked over to the south wall where all the weapons were hung horizontally. He grabbed his own katana and buckled it to his cloth belt. After he left to get ready for his trip, Jon and Kasumi went about their daily practice which would last for hours, if uninterrupted. They used wooden swords and fought mercilessly. After every spar, they would both be left with numerous bruises.

They were both startled when sudden screams erupted outside. Confused, Jon ran to the south wall and grabbed a sheathed katana and quickly buckled it to his belt. "Kasumi! We need to check what's going on!" He shouted, rushing to the door. They ran outside. The screams were painful. Glancing around, Jon saw smoke rising from nearby houses. Sounds of swords clashing and screams of dying men and woman made his heart tighten.

"Who is attacking us? Damn it!" Kasumi screamed. They ran toward the commotion, "Jon, you need to stay out of sight. If this is the noble clan, they will kill you on sight!"

"But… I don't want you to go alone, it could be dangerous," Jon pleaded, not doubting her skill, but numbers would always prevail.

"Just go hide! Remember my clan's shrine, the one I showed you before. Go, I will meet you there, but first I need to find out who's attacking us." Even though she was the one going to run into danger, she was still concerned for his safety.

"Kasumi, don't die!" Jon shouted. He turned right and began running down the dirt road toward the shrine. He saw fighting everywhere. Men, woman and children were getting slaughtered. Jon kept running. The enemy kept swarming into the village. Fear coursed through his system; most of the fighting men were out of the village. _Fuck, _he thought, speeding up.

He neared a corner and turned. His breath got caught in his throat when he saw an enemy soldier. The samurai halted and gazed in his direction and began to charge wildly, unsheathing his katana. Jon inhaled deeply and tried to calm his fears. He moved forward to meet the attack. Jon side stepped the first downward swing, drawing his own sword in the process and swung right toward the soldiers upper body, the enemy managed to clumsily block the heavy blow, causing him to step back. Jon saw an opportunity and quickly stepped forward and stabbed him through the neck. And when he pulled it out, the samurai gave a grunt and fell dead before his feet.

"That emblem," Jon said, dropping to one knee and studying the emblem on the dead soldier's breast. _Seven hells, _he thought. The emblem belonged to the Mutsu province's noble clan. "Taira clan… fuck—"

Suddenly several other enemy soldiers came walking around the corner. Jon glanced down to the dead body once more and then back to the group. They looked at one another then began charging at him, screaming and unsheathing there weapons. _Seven hells, i can't take em all,_ he thought, and the fact that he just killed one of them didn't help the situation. There were only two possible means of escape, either he needed to turn back and run the way he had come from, or make for the dense trees which was less than forty feet from his right. Arrows flew past his head, grazing his cheek, drawing blood. "Fuck me," he whispered, deciding to run for the trees, hoping he could outrun his pursuers.

Jon's heart pounded as he made it to the trees and somehow managed to dodge all the arrows. He ran around the trees and made for the shrine. He glanced over his shoulder as he ran and saw no one.

A scream in the distance made him halt. He recognized the voice. _Kasumi!_ His thoughts became erratic. He couldn't think straight, all he knew was that he needed to save her. Deep inside Jon knew he was most likely the cause of this massacre, the Taira clan hated foreigners and executed anyone who ventured to far from the trade ports. The Ashina village had harbored him for all these months, teaching him sword techniques and even gave him a roof over his head. Kasumi and her father had been kind to him, and he didn't want to be the cause of her death. "Fuck!" Jon screamed and turned back, heading to where her scream had come from.

The scream had come from the village center. The dense forest gave him some cover, though he still did his best to make a sound and stay out of sight. All the enemy soldiers appeared to be moving toward where her scream had come from, Ashina's village center. He reached the edge of the trees and glanced around, making sure no one was around. Jon ran out and headed to the nearest building. He kept running from cover to cover, always checking for enemies, the hilt of the katana firm in his right hands grip, ready. Jon found it odd, that the man he had killed before was the first man he had ever killed and yet he didn't feel anything. No joy or sadness or guilt. He forced the thought out, nearing his destination.

The enemy samurai had gathered around the village center. Jon approached slowly trying to stay out of sight as much as possible. Remnants of the Ashina clan's guard were on their knees, hands bound and beaten bloody. Kasumi was on the floor as well, blood trickling down her face. Standing stern before her was a heavily armored man. He barked commands to the soldiers around him. _Must be the commander, _Jon thought.

"Where is the foreigner!" the commander demanded, signalling his men to pull Kasumi back up onto her feet.

"I don't… k-know who you're talking about," Kasumi told him.

"Are you sure girl," he said, pulling his katana from its sheath. "Get on your knees," he commanded, signalling his men to force her down. "Last chance, tell us where the boy is and we shall spare you and the remaining captives."

Kasumi gazed down and said nothing. After a brief moment of silence the commander sighed in annoyance. "Hope he was worth it." He brought the katana up over her head.

"Kasumi!" Jon screamed. The commander was about to cut her down, and Jon couldn't stand by and let that happen. Before he knew what he was doing he had pushed pass the unsuspecting samurai that cluttered the area, and drew his katana out, cutting down two of the enemy before he then focused on the commander. Jon ran at him swinging furiously. Jon couldn't think, his anger was beyond control, all his swings were clumsily and amateurish. The smirking commander merely parried each attack and chuckled at Jon's clumsy attempt to slay him. Before Jon could continue he felt a sharp pain run down his back, he fell onto his knees, sword still in hand.

"My, my, my. Such courage… we have been looking for you _foreigner_." The commander kicked his ribs, causing him fall onto the floor, clutching his aching side. "We asked nicely, but no one seemed to know where you were. And well let's say they paid for their lies." He circled around Jon as a lion would his wounded pray. "If it wasn't for some greedy farmer we wouldn't have even known you were here at all. Lucky us, I guess."

"You have me, so let her go," Jon pleaded.

"No. She must pay for her insolence." He gave Jon a look and laughed. "You're in no position to demand anything from me."

Head spinning, he tried to grab for his sword but the commander noticed and stabbed him through his hand. Jon screamed as he felt scolding pain pulse from the wound. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he refused to cry, he couldn't show weakness. Suddenly with full force the commander kicked Jon thrice more, cursing at him. Screaming, Jon curled into a defensive ball, clutching his sides. _Arya… _he thought, tasting blood in his mouth.

Jon glanced sideways and saw Kasumi screaming and yelling for them to stop. Her pleas were answered with mailed fist to her stomach. Kasumi grunted and fell to the ground, clutching her wound.

"_Please…_ In the name of Asena, leave us be. We have done no wrong." Kasumi pleaded as tears ran down her face. She tried to use her hands to force herself up onto her knees.

"Asena?" The commander chuckled. "That's right… you vermin from the Ashina clan believe that some purple eyed boy who had survived a battle was saved by the she-wolf _Asena_, and he fucked her till she birthed him ten half-man half-wolf babies and one of them was Ashina, your clan founder." The whole crowd of soldiers burst into laughter.

"I have a great idea," He said, gazing upon Jon. "You seem to really believe in the legends girl. I hear there is a shrine around here that's dedicated to your _beloved_ she-wolf goddess." He signaled his men to drag Jon up to his feet. "What better place to execute him."

Jon felt someone grab his hair and then violently he was pulled up onto his feet. He was dragged toward the shrine. His surroundings became more blurry as they dragged him, the pain he felt coursing through him was too much to bear and he had to fight to urge to pass out. Jon heard Kasumi sob, pleading. _"It's alright" _he wanted to tell her. It was his decision to barge into the crowded group of enemies. _Seven hells, what was even I thinking… _he thought, not regretting his decision to try and rescue her. Whenever he closed and opened his eyes, they had moved closer and closer to the shrine.

His eyes fluttered open, and he saw the shrine in front of him. _I'm so sorry, little wolf, _he thought, dazed. _I'm going to die here alone and you won't even know what happened to me. _The thought shattered his heart, Jon couldn't even imagine how Arya would feel, not knowing what had happened to him, or why he hadn't returned to her. Somehow that hurt more than knowing that his death was imminent.

He missed his cousins: little Rickon, bright eyes shining as he begged for a sweet; Robb, his rival and best friend and constant companion; Bran, stubborn and curious, always wanting to follow and join in whatever Jon and Robb were doing. He missed the girls too, even Sansa, who never called him anything but "my half-brother" since she was old enough to understand what _bastard_ meant. And Arya … he missed her the most, skinny little wolf that she was, all scraped knees and tangled hair and torn clothes, so fierce and wilful and beautiful. Arya never seemed to fit, no more than he had… yet she could always make Jon smile. He would give anything to be with her now, to muss up her hair once more and watch her make a face, to hear her finish a sentence with him.

A smirk washed over the commander's face. "Drag him into the shine!" His men complied without hesitation, dragging Jon into the shrine and throwing his limp body against a wooden stand. Jon heard something crash near him. His vision was blurry, he had never been inside the shrine before and it took him a while to make out his surroundings. Near his head lay an oval shaped object, it was large. _Looks like an egg, _he thought, studying the object, it had an Onyx and dark-blue hue, and was covered in tiny scales. He had never seen anything like this before.

"Grab the hay and oil!" Jon heard the commands of the cruel commander and the screams of Kasumi who begged them to stop. Jon tried to move but his back and sides caused him too much pain, he only managed to sit up against the nearest wall. All he could think about was Arya, his _beautiful wolf_, the woman of his dreams. He found it amusing that just before his death, he didn't fear death itself. What he feared was the pain Arya would live with, thinking he had left her alone, thinking he had broken his promise.

"Girl, are you ready to watch your friend burn to death." Jon heard the cruel voice say then laugh.

Kasumi screamed.

"Pour the oil!" the cruel voice commanded.

Jon could smell the oil. He leaned forward and grabbed the odd looking egg with his good hand, placing it onto his lap. "So beautiful," he whispered, tracing the scales with his finger, trying to forget his fate. Tears started to fall from his eyes. _This isn't how I imagined things would turn out. I was a fool, and I'm going to pay for it with my life. Please don't forget me Arya. _He could smell smoke, he didn't lift his head in fear he would start screaming. Jon at least wanted to die with honor, he was no coward.

Flames erupted all around the shrine, there was no escape.

He could still hear Kasumi screaming and crying at his misfortune. The smoke was thick, he coughed uncontrollably and all the while flames crept closer and closer. Jon was starting to lose consciousness. He had no idea why he was trying to fight it, instinct maybe. _Let go, just let go. _Better to die painlessly then burn alive, he thought.

Jon gasped. Arya stood before him like a shadow. "Why Jon… why are you going to leave me! I trusted you. I believed in you," she said, not seeming to notice the flames around her.

Jon felt ashamed at his own predicament. "Arya… I don't even know what to do." He coughed. "I can't move. Even if I could, what could I do?" He coughed twice more. "There are so many enemies out there." Tears escaped his eyes as he battled the fear.

"Giving up huh? That's just like you Jon. Giving up when you see no means of escape!"

"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" Jon screamed as loud as he could. His vision become blurry, his lunges and eyes burned. "Arya," he murmured, coughing painfully. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have screamed."

Arya frowned, glaring at him. Slowly she brought her hand up toward Jon. "I thought you_ loved _me."

"Wait, please." Jon begged as he watched her slowly disappear into the fog of smoke. The smoke burned his eyes so bad the tears alone made it almost impossible to see. "Don't leave me," he cried out, trying to bring his own hand up toward hers. _Arya, I do love you, _he thought, the smoke and fire surrounding him.

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******Follow and favorite** if you liked it. Hope you read my next chapter.  


**Next chapter will be one of my original characters POV.**


	9. Chapter 9: The Prodigy

**Here is the ninth chapter. Enjoy!**

**Chapter 9**

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**The Prodigy**

The day had started out beautiful and the morning sky had been like a dome of ocean-blue. The clouds had looked like airy anvils drifting under the gleaming disc of the orange sun. But now, rain swept across the surrounding grass verges of the village center in a downpour, splattering onto the dirt roads that entwined through the village. Kasumi Ashina lost count of how many hours had passed since the massacre had begun. The sky darkened. Twilight deepened. The sky behind the storm clouds turned a deep purple, the color of an old bruise, then faded to black. The stars began to come out. A moon rose, half hidden from the grey clouds.

Bound and beaten bloody, Kasumi and the remaining captives could do little as they watched the Taira soldiers ransack the village, looting anything they could find. A few times she spotted them trying to burn down the houses but the rain had grown fierce and they gave up after a few attempts. Any survivors they found were quickly put to the sword. Each time they forced her to look; lips bloodied, all she could do was watch, helpless.

Lightning streaked across the horizon, capturing a frozen shot of the smouldering debris that had once been their most sacred shrine: burnt-black wood, splashed with mud was all that remained. A crash of thunder, then more lightning and another glimpse of Jon Snow's funeral pyre. Did ever a man deserve such a cruel death? Questions flooded her head. _Why Jon? Why try to save me_. But she knew the answer, and it was tragic. He had tried to save her because he thought of her as a friend that needed saving and his actions led him into an early grave. _Why, Jon? _The rain was heavy, heavier then she had ever felt. It was as if the heaven themselves were crying at the tragedy.

"That's what happens when you harbor foreigners," the commander whispered into her ear. He laughed and signaled at his men, shouting for them to hurry up. The storm didn't seem like it would let up anytime soon.

"You are fucking monsters," Kasumi screamed with all her strength. The massacre was so cruel and unjust, how many innocents died? The thoughts alone caused her to bite her lip hard, drawing blood.

"Execute these traitors!" The commander yelled with a smirk, water trickling down his black beard. "Put their heads on a spike, so that any passer-by's may see, then they will know that this is what happens to those that betray the noble clans."

Kasumi's gaze dropped to the ground, water streaked through the mud, under her. _I was too weak. You died trying to save me,_ she thought. Jon Snow had been her only real friend, always encouraging her to do her best. And he died for her. Her thoughts vanished when she felt a hand grab her hair and pull her up. She sobbed in pain, struggling against the hands that dragged her toward the other captives that were lined up against the nearest wall. They forced her onto her feet. Kasumi closed her eyes. She knew what was coming next.

A cold wind raced across her face and she heard the battle cry of men in the distance. "For Ashina!" The voices of a hundred men cried out.

Kasumi opened her eyes, confused. Samurai dressed in odd bits of armor descended onto the village center with their swords drawn, they cried _"Ashina"_ as they neared. They rushed toward the scattered Taira soldiers, who had no chance against the sudden onslaught. Most had loot in their arms and didn't act fast enough. The Taira men might have outnumbered the unknown group three to one, but they were too relaxed and believed they had defeated all resistance. One by one they were all cut down while they reached for their weapons. She dropped to her knees, half relieved, half confused, everything a blur. Her eyes never left the fighting.

"Kasumi!" someone called for her. She could almost recognize the voice. Breathing heavily, she forced herself up onto her feet. Everywhere she looked, dead samurai lay bleeding. Trying to stand was too much, her knees trembled. She used the wall behind her for support. Kasumi gazed around, searching for the familiar voice that had called for name.

"Father!" she screamed. Her father was clad in steel plate armor, blood dripping from his katana. Relief surged through her for a moment. Only when she remembered Jon dead, did all that relief turn to bitter sadness. She felt tears run down her cheeks. Kasumi had always been a strong girl, wilful and determined, but now she truly felt like a helpless girl. They had called her a prodigy, and praised her swordsmanship. Where was her skill when Jon needed it the most?

"Kasumi, are you alright?" Akira asked, embracing her in a tight hug. He grabbed her shoulders, stepped back and looked her over. "Are you hurt?"

"_Jon_. Oh gods, father, they murdered him." She broke down crying in her father's arms, "It was my fault!" she whispered, the words wrapping around her throat, as if to strangle her. "My fault…" she repeated into his armored chest.

"No," Akira said, pulling her back into his arms, "it was not your fault Kasumi. The dead around you are to blame and I promise you, I will make the noble clans pay for what they did to our home."

Kasumi gazed up. She had never seen more anger in his black eyes as she did now. She felt safe in his arms, but at the same time immense guilt flowed through her and it was ripping her apart.

"Father, how did you know that they attacked?" she asked.

"I was riding up the hill when I noticed the smoke and fighting. I wanted to rush back but I knew it would be futile, so I rode as fast as I could to the nearest villages and told them that we were under attack. I gathered as much fighting men as I could, and rushed back here." He looked away in shame. "I was too late… I'm sorry."

"My lord," said a stout soldier, with long legs and a thick chest. Coarse hair covered his cheeks and jowls and poked from his ears and nostrils. "We have secured most of village, and captured all those that surrendered. We only lost a dozen or so men. Luckily we managed to take them unawares. Before they realized what was happening, it had already happened. They barely even put up a fight, save a few."

"Good job, Amon. Bring them all here, to the front of the shrine." Amon nodded and walked away. "Kasumi," he said, turning back to her. "Wait here while I go sort this mess out and find out just how many died in this massacre."

Kasumi rested against the wall, watching, her guilt eating at her with each passing second. Her thoughts filled with Jon and the time they had spent together; training, eating and talking of adventures that would have. The clouded sky grew darker and rain continued to fall, the air filled with its scent. She pushed herself of the wall and stumbled to the shrine, legs weak and aching. The rain had extinguished the flames hours ago. At first the fire had been fierce and the rain could do little against the inferno, but slowly the fire submitted, though not before consuming her only friend.

She stared at the remnants of the smouldering shrine she had frequented as a child. They had been warm memories, but now, looking at the sacred shrine, all she thought about was Jon burning alive. Had he suffered during his last breaths? He must have, surely. But Kasumi didn't hear any screams from within, just the _crackling_ of wood burning and that horrible sound the shrine made once it collapsed onto itself.

A sudden crash of wood caught Kasumi's attention. Amongst the burnt debris she noticed movement. A hand as black as night burst out of the damp wreckage with such ferocity, it sent the neighboring wood crashing. The fingers of the darkened hand flexed and a second hand emerged, slower this time. "What in the hells," she murmured and watched as burnt and splinted pieces of wood were pushed aside. Her eyes widened. Kasumi could not believe what she was witnessing. Someone emerged from the darkness, covered in ash from head to toe. _Impossible, _she thought, refusing to believe what her eyes were seeing. Naked as his nameday, Jon Snow stood there—amongst what had been his grave—inhaling the rain scented air.

A bright flash of lightning lit up the darkness of night, followed closely by a roar of thunder. Never had she seen the moon so bright. Her surroundings were darkened, yes, but the moon was shining and she could see clear enough. The rain washed away the grey-black ash from Jon's body. Even though he was naked, Kasumi still couldn't help but think this was what a true king should look like. He stood tall and true and seemed to care little about his nakedness. Kasumi was so focused on him that it took her a moment to realize that there was something curled up in his arms.

Another lightning exploded from the heavens, sending vivid flashes of light from cloud to cloud, then finally down to earth, over the nearby mountain. In that moment it had become as clear as day and Kasumi saw what was in his arms, curled up. Sky-blue eyes stared back at her. _Impossible, _she thought. The onyx colored beast in Jon's arms looked similar to the carvings she used to look at in the shrine. "Dragon," she mumbled in awe. Breaking from her trance she focused back onto Jon and said, "How are you alive?"

It was impossible; no one could have survived that inferno. Kasumi Ashina wasn't even aware of her surroundings anymore. All the soldiers that were near the collapsed shrine were gasping at the sight. Some were frightened, while others stared in amazement. Jon just stared at them all with a blank expression. Everyone gasped and stumbled back when the dragon hissed and attempted a roar; it was weak yet loud, which reminded Kasumi of newborn babes crying at birth.

Whispers echoed back and forth between the awe-stricken crowds of battle-hardened men. Fear and joy was evident in their tones. _"Dragon" _and _"King"_ were the words she heard most. The whispers all but stopped when Akira Ashina and half a dozen samurai returned with all the enemy captives, who were shackled in iron.

"Kasumi, what are you—" He gasped, pushing the bound commander onto his knees.

Kasumi glanced right. Blood trickled down the captives face. His once smug smile was replaced by a wary frown. He didn't look so fearsome now, she thought, then focused up at her father. Never had she seen her father with such a shocked expression.

"Impossible!" the commander suddenly shouted, trying to stand. "_You_… you're supposed to be dead!" He said in disbelief. "I killed you! That I did!" His wary expression changed and he started laughing hysterically. "I killed you!" He repeated, struggling against his shackles.

Akira swiftly silenced him with a mailed fist to the side of the head. Laughter turned to grunts as the commander sprawled forward into the mud, nursing the wound.

The steady downpour of rain came to a halt. The scent lingered on, stronger then when it had been raining.

"His eyes are _purple!_" Someone in the crowd shouted and more and more shouts soon followed. Frantic cries of prophecy rang around the village center.

"A living dragon," said a broad-shouldered man with a fierce black beard. "The legend is true!" He dropped to one knee and plunged his katana deep into the ground in front of himself, in submission. "Praise Asena and bend the knee to the one true king that will unite Nihon and drive out the evil that has plagued us!"

Kasumi glanced around and watched as one by one all the samurai knelt before Jon Snow. _How is this possible_? Growing up she had been taught about the legend of the she-wolf Asena and the purple-eyed boy that she had saved from a long forgotten war. That nameless boy had become the first king of Nihon. But the kings of the rising sun were long dead and noble clans had ruled for centuries. Kasumi had also learned of the prophecy: that one day a boy with purple eyes would arise with a dragon and drive out all evil from the land.

"Praise Asena for she has brought us the King of the Rising Sun," the samurai next to Kasumi said. And soon the crowds erupted into synchronized shouts. "Dragon King" they roared and started plunging their swords into the ground.

"The king that was promised," another shouted.

Akira Ashina stepped forward. "Who are you? What is your true name?" he asked, dropping to one knee. "The legends… I thought them false." His voice filled with shame. "But I see the truth in front of me now and the folly of my previous thoughts." Akira looked up at Jon Snow. "Who are you?" He also drove his katana into the wet ground.

"My true name?" Jon Snow paused and gazed at them all. "My name is Jon… _Targaryen_," he said, as if enlightened from a heavy burden.

Again the shouting began.

"The Dragon King!"

"The King of the Rising Sun!"

"_THE KING OF THE RISING SUN!_"

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**Hope you liked my original character. I will also be doing another Different OC Pov.**

**Follow if you liked this chapter! And stay tuned for the next.**


	10. Chapter 10: Assassin

**Here is chapter 10. This is my second original character POV and this is the character I will write a few more POV chapters with.**

**Chapter 10**

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**Assassin**

Rokuro Koga walked into the crowded tavern—with such stealth, no one noticed his presence—and chose to sit alone in the dark corner, blowing out the candle once he relaxed into the wooden chair. He had been frequenting the taverns around the Izu trade port. Rumors of the King of the Rising Sun had him curious and he knew the best place to obtain the information he needed was at the local inns and taverns.

"Have you heard? Seems the clans of Mutsu province have rebelled," said the drunken samurai, in-between sips of rice wine. "Four? No, six weeks ago the noble clan's army raided the Ashina clan's village and massacred the locals while most of the fighting men were away. Ironically, they themselves got ambushed by soldiers from the nearby villages. They killed all the Taira men, save one."

"Why one," asked the nearby sailor.

The samurai shrugged. "I heard they let him go so he could tell the Taira clan leader as well as everyone else about their new king." he paused and finished the remaining wine. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand he said, "The King of the Rising Sun, they call him as they did the old kings of Nihon." The samurai chuckled and gestured to the proprietor for another cup of wine. "Nihon hasn't had a king in centuries… there's going to be war my friends, and we better choose the right side."

A rough looking trader with dirt stained clothes turned around and joined the conversation. "They also call him the Dragon King and rumor has it that all the clans that have rallied to this king are preparing to march against the noble clans. There's also been talk of rebellion in the other provinces as well." The trader rubbed his brow and finished his cup of rice wine in one swift motion. "I say good riddance. Fuck the noble clans, they murdered my wife!" The trader stumbled to his feet, drunk.

"Calm down," the proprietor said, cleaning the newly washed cups with a piece of cloth. "If the wrong ears hear, they'll have your head on a spike."

Rokuro glanced around the room. The whole tavern seemed to be listening in on the conversation. What the proprietor had said was true, it was talk of treason and men were known to get executed for much less. Talk of the Dragon King all but stopped after that, but he could tell by just looking at the drunks that they were fed up with the noble clan's brutal rule and would rally to the new king if given the chance.

An hour past before a bold, short lean man walked into the tavern. He wore brown breeches fastened with an old leather belt, and black boots. The clean white-blue tunic was much larger than the man and swayed like a banner as he walked. From one glance an ordinary person would have dismissed the man as weak and helpless, but Rokuro knew better and prepared for a possible conflict.

The bold man approached cautiously, as if to say he wasn't a threat with his movements alone. Rokuro was prepared nevertheless, his grip tight around the hidden dirk. A katana would be less effective in such a confined space.

"Friend," the bold man said, sitting down on the opposite chair.

Slowly Rokuro unsheathed the dirk half way and studied the man's features. From a young age he had been taught the hidden arts of the Koga clan—a mercenary clan in truth—he could read a man's face and separate truth from lies. At twenty years of age, Rokuro Koga was already a master at what he did and he would soon take command of his father's clan.

The bold man's face was emotionless and Rokuro sheathed the dirk. Someone who wanted him dead wouldn't just walk up and announce themselves, no, this was a messenger, and a skilled one at that. "How did you find me?" he asked, curious.

Beneath the man's smirk were straight white teeth. "As you yourself have many _unique_ skills… so do I, but that is not what matters right now." He leaned in close, his torso over the wooden brown-stained table. "I assume you have heard the rumors of the usurper in Mutsu province." He waited until Rokuro nodded, then reached under the table and brought a scroll out. "Here." He offered.

_Assassin,_ was the only word written outside the scroll. No _Rokuro Koga _or other names he was known by. Simply _Assassin._ And the letter was sealed with a smear of hard red wax with the royal seal of the Taira clan engraved into the wax. Rokuro cracked the seal, flattened the parchment, and read.

_Rokuro Koga. I Kiyomori Taira am the rightful ruler of Mutsu province. As long as the Koga clan is situated in my province, you and your clan will obey me or I swear I will declare you all traitors and have you all destroyed._

_By whatever means necessary I want that usurper dead. I want all those treacherous clan leaders who follow that false king dead. I want all his friends dead. I want all their heads upon the walls of my castle._

_That false king lied, there are no dragons left in this world. He would have the world believe that dragons are reborn once more, but I will have those lies brought to light._

_I want them all dead. Send their heads to me, assassin, and I will not trouble you or your clan. Refuse me, and I will destroy everyone and everything you hold dear._

It was signed,

_Kiyomori Taira,_

_Noble clan leader of Mutsu._

"Friend?" said the messenger. "I hope you forgive the rudeness in the letter. But Kiyomori… he is nervous. So tell me, do you accept?"

Rokuro Koga did not answer at once. Instead, he pondered his options. "I accept," he said after a while and watched as the eyes of the messenger widened. The shocked man stumbled to his feet and stared down at his tunic, which started to turn crimson from the dirk that Rokuro had flung from under the table. Rokuro's expression hardened as he stood and unsheathed his katana. "Our knees do not bend easily," he said and sliced the messengers throat open, spraying blood all over the walls.

The whole tavern fell silent as the body collapsed against the table, and then crashed onto the ground with a _thump_. Heads turned and gasps escaped mouths. Rokuro stood defiant, ready in case anyone came at him. But only whispers broke out once they noticed the bloodied katana in his hand. No one stood in his way as he left the tavern.

Talk of dragons and a rebellion had been the talk of the trade port for the last few days and Rokuro noticed that people were starting to choose sides. He knew he had to choose a side as well and soon, before war broke out. _Guess I made my choice, _he thought, putting the letter in the pocket of his cloak. _If this Dragon King does have a real dragon, and the support for his cause grows even more rapidly, the noble clans are doomed_.

Rokuro Koga needed to meet the King of the Rising Sun and soon. But first, he needed to protect his clan. It had been months since he last visited the Mutsu province, and with the Ashina clan and its new king declaring war on the nobles, he would need to be extra careful as it would be more dangerous than ever, traveling. Pulling the hood over his head, he headed toward the stables.

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**Hope you enjoyed this short chapter.**


	11. Chapter 11: Jon

**Here is chapter 10. **

**I hope you enjoy the read and I'm sorry if it feels a little slow. **

**But I assure you, next chapter will make up for it. **

**Chapter 11**

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**Jon**

"Your Grace," Akira said, entering Jon Targaryens solar and dropping to one knee. The room was filled with bookshelves cluttered with old scrolls and maps. A fire was burning was burning in the hearth. Near the open window overlooking the entire village Jon sat on the oak-and-leather chair behind the rough-hewn table, on his lap, curled up like a ball was his dragon who he named Skyfyre, Jon found it fitting as she had azure eyes that looked like blue living flame. Covering the table was a large map of Nihon, painted on a ragged piece of hide. A tallow candle weighed down one end of it, a steel dirk the other.

"Akira," Jon said, looking up from the map.

"Your Grace, we have dispatched the ravens. All the clans in the other provinces should receive the letters soon." Akira paused, taking a moment to inhale. "May I speak freely?" Jon gazed at him a moment and nodded. "We should attack Kiyomori Taira's castle immediately. Their men are scared and would break at the sight of our forces. We might not have a chance like this again."

Jon sighed and leaned back in the leather chair. "And if we don't break them Akira. What then? Even if we manage to defeat them, too many would die on both sides. We need their men, or we will not have a chance against our other enemies, should they decide to march on us." Jon had spent weeks with his war council of clan leaders, deciding what their next move should be. "If only Skyfyre was big enough for me to ride, I would fly into his stronghold myself and burn it to the ground," The she-dragon was already twice the size she was when she was born. He caressed her scaled serpentine neck. "Would if I could, but she's still too young." The dragon lifted her head and regarded Jon silently before laying it back down onto his lap.

"A living dragon is all we need to win. Whether she fights or not, it doesn't matter. The fact we have a dragon is sufficient enough to fill our enemies with fear," Akira Ashina said, his lips curving into smile. "On other matters, several other clans in our province have sworn fealty to you. We currently have over ten thousands soldiers." His smile turned into a grin.

Jon frowned. "And our enemy has fifteen thousand. We still need more."

"Worry not, Your Grace. Enemy samurai are defecting to our side by the hour, and a few clans from other provinces have already sent letters pledging their support for our rebellion. Soon we will have many more men, and since the Mutsu trade port is closer to us, we have been able to monopolize steady supplies of food and weapons for our own men."

"Good." Jon smiled and glanced over the map once more. "We must cut of supply lines to the Taira clan's army. The hungrier their men get, the easier it will be for them to submit to our cause. But the problem is Kiyomori, he won't give up his power easily. He needs to die Akira and soon. Then his men will throw down their arms without resistance." It was easier said than done. His army surrounded Kiyomori's castle and Jon had no idea how he would be able to get to him.

Akira spoke before Jon could finish his thought. "We could hire someone from the Koga clan."

"Isn't that the mercenary clan that specializes in assassination?" Jon asked. He had heard the name a few times before, even back in Winterfell, they were as reputed as the faceless men of Braavos.

"Yes, Your Grace. They are as skilled as the faceless men of the free cities. Costly yes, but they will get the job done regardless of where Kiyomori hides," Akira replied.

"Would avert needless bloodshed," Jon agreed, pouring himself a cup of arbor gold from the flagon near the map. "I'll think on it." He offered a cup to Akira but got a polite refusal. "Akira, can you go fetch Kasumi for me, I have things I need to discuss with her."

"I shall get her now, Your Grace." Akira stood, bowed his head and left the warm comfort of the solar.

Jon glanced over his shoulder, out the window. The sounds of his men practicing there swordsmanship could be heard from outside. _I should think of an emblem and a banner._ The thought had occurred to him a few times before, if he was to go into battle he would need his men to wear an emblem, so they could tell friend from foe. Kings needed emblems and banners and the thought of having his own brought a grin to his face.

The scenery from the window was beautiful. Jon Targaryen had full view of Ashina village, which was his base of operations for the time being. He had view of the mountains that surrounded them. There were only a handful of roads and secret passages that led into the village and all were heavily guarded with his soldiers.

Even after months of living here, Jon still got mesmerized by the native flower of Nihon that grew on the large brown trees. "Sakura," Akira had told him. He had never seen such flowers before; white-pink blossoms gave life to the village. It was peaceful and one would soon forget they were at war.

There was a knock on the door. "Your Grace." A voice said and before Jon could respond Kasumi walked into the room. She had apparently been training. She was panting and sweating.

"Looks like you have been training hard. Sorry for the inconvenience, but I need to talk to you," Jon said.

"Not at all. For the King of the Rising Sun, I will do anything," she responded playfully.

"I've been thinking about it awhile, I want to form my own Kingsguard. The same ones they have in Westeros. I need your help, I want to recruit the best," he said, gesturing to the jug of water near the wine.

Kasumi nodded. "Kingsguard… ah, I read about them, not a bad idea. I mean we can't have our king defenseless." She giggled and walked toward the table. "How is Skyfyre? Seems she's growing really fast, she might even be rideable in a year or less." Kasumi poured herself a cup of water.

"Yes, she is. Though, she doesn't like to leave my side. It seems she likes the way I hold her, and she's starting to get heavy." Jon laughed. "On another note I have been thinking we should also create an emblem and banner for our army."

"Why not. Actually it's a good idea. We will be able to identify our own men in battle more easily that way. Interesting, do you have any ideas in mind?" she asked in-between sips.

Jon had thought about it a lot, lying awake at night. "I got one in mind. As you know I grew up in Winterfell. My uncle's banner is a grey direwolf on a white field, and my father's banner was a three headed dragon on a black field. Stark and Targaryen, I was thinking that the emblem and banner should have both a one headed dragon and direwolf on it."

"I would have thought a three headed dragon would have been your choice, why just one head? Kasumi asked.

"I've got both dragon and wolf blood in me. Back home I have an albino direwolf named Ghost, and now I got her, Skyfyre. So I thought a white direwolf colored after Ghost and an onyx dragon colored after Skyfyre on a field of grey would be perfect." The thought had come to him a few days before. The dragon represented Jon and the direwolf Arya. _She would like it, _he thought.

Kasumi nodded. "I will ask around and see if someone can design it for you, once it's done I shall bring it here so you can give your approval. Did you want anything else, Your Grace?"

"That's all Kasumi. And thanks by the way, for being such a good friend. It means a lot to me, and sorry for getting you all into this mess." Jon gazed away from her, the guilt he had been trying to hide deep inside was starting to build up once more.

"Nonsense, you are our savior. You are a true blessing. If you didn't show up, we would have continued to live in fear. So don't ever talk like that again, you are our king!" Kasumi's tone was harsh but full of care.

Her sudden burst of anger shocked Jon. He flushed, looking away from her gaze. "I'm sorry, you're completely right. I need to start acting like a king. These people look up to me. And I can't disappoint them, not at any cost." Kasumi's expression softened. "You can get back to your training now. I need to arrange a meeting with my commanders. I have a plan to defeat the Taira clan without any unnecessary deaths." Jon watched her leave his solar. He needed to inform the commanders about his plan to hire an assassin from the Koga clan.

"Skyfyre," he said, caressing the dragon, gaining her attention. "I need to leave for a little while. So I need you to stay here for just a little while, I will have your favorite food brought here so please try not to burn anything." Jon looked down at her sky-blue eyes. She _hissed_ and climbed down his leg. She looked up at Jon once more and began to awkwardly flap her wings and jump. After a dozen attempts she jumped into the air. He had never seen her fly before. "You can do it," he blurted out. Skyfyre ascended into the air, furiously flapping her thin blue-black wings, trying to stay afloat, and slowly she bobbed up and down toward the small bed of blankets he had made for her in the corner of the solar.

Jon Targaryen's grin was as wide as ever. "You're just to perfect," he said, walking to the makeshift bed. Skyfyre looked ecstatic, jumping up and down and suddenly smoke smouldered from her mouth and nostrils. It could only mean one thing. "Don't," Jon wanted to say, but before the words came out, flames erupted from her mouth and engulfed the nearby rug.

Guards had rushed back and forward with buckets of water. The dragons flame was much harder to control then normal flames. It was said that dragons flame had magic in them and perhaps that was the reason. Luckily only the rug and stone beneath had been damaged, but nothing he couldn't replace or repair. The dragon had fallen asleep by the time the fire had been extinguished and replaced. _How in the seven hells can she fall asleep amongst such noise. _Finding no answer in his thoughts, he gently put a blanket over Skyfyre, knowing full well that dragons didn't get cold. But he did it nevertheless.

"I'll get the cooks to bring you your favorite food, once you wake up," Jon whispered. He watched her sleeping, getting lost in his thoughts in the process. All he could think about was Arya, and her upcoming nameday that he would miss. He felt guilty, it would be the first time he had missed her nameday. In a way, the banner and emblem he would create would be her nameday present. And once they met up again, he would tell her all about it and gaze upon the natural beauty that was her grin. The thought brought a smile to his lips.

Jon glanced back to Skyfyre once more before walking out of the solar.

**-0-**

It was dusk by the time he made it back to his room. Jon had spent much of the day with his war council, debating on what there next moves should be. Everyone had agreed that hiring an assassin would be the logical solution to their dilemma. He would make the arrangements on the morrow, for now though, he just wanted to relax. It had been a long day and Jon felt tired.

Skyfyre was awake, but still nestled into the comfort of the blankets. He walked around the table and collapsed into the leather chair. The smell of smoke still lingered in the air, but was much less than it had been before.

Akira knocked and entered the solar. "I hope your meeting with the war council went well," he said, walking to the table, looking just as tired as Jon. "Your Grace. Does something trouble you?"

Jon shook his head. "I was just thinking of someone important." He grinned to himself, thinking of Arya. "By the way, the clan leaders agreed that we need to eliminate Kiyomori Taira. They all know that if we attack his stronghold with brute force alone, many thousands will die and it wouldn't even guarantee victory. The only way his men will submit without a fight is if Kiyomori dies. We need to make it look like an accident."

"Agreed. But I've been thinking, wouldn't it be better if we also eliminated the other noble leaders as well, before they decide to march on us?" Akira asked.

For hours Jon Targaryen had thought about it, but decided against it. "No, not yet. They might still bend the knee. Even if we did assassinate them, they would just choose someone else to lead and that would definitely cause them to march on us if they suspected our hand was involved. We need to tread lightly." Jon didn't want ruin anything yet, his army almost rivaled Kiyomori's. He needed to take things slowly. Any screw up would greatly hinder their hopes of winning.

Akira nodded.

Jon sighed. "At least I hope that once we kill Kiyomori, we can gain their lands and men. Once the other clans see that the noble clans aren't untouchable, they will rise to our cause. The smaller clans within the other provinces still fear the nobles though. Many of them did send letters once they found about the rebellion, pleading support for our cause. But they wouldn't act straight away. We need to show them that we have the power and determination to defeat our enemies." Jon stood and walked to the open window.

It was the best he could hope for. Once one noble died, people would see that they were not immortal and could be killed. It is what he needed right now. _All men must die, _he thought, remembering that he heard someone say it. And it was true, no one was truly safe.

Akira walked to the open window, coming to a halt next to Jon. "So by showing them we can defeat a noble clan with minimal loses, they will hopefully take up arms and fight for us?"

"Yes and no. The clans furthest from us might support us, but they won't be able to send men to our aid because the moment the noble clan of their province finds out of their betrayal, they will descend on them with blood and steel. Once we march south onto their provinces, they will join their strength with ours. So the more noble clans we manage to defeat, the more clans will join us." That would be the best outcome.

"Makes sense," Akira agreed.

A fresh breeze washed over Jon's face. The air was cold and crisp. "For now though, we must bring every clan in Mutsu onto our side. If we succeed in liberating this province, we should have about thirty thousand soldiers." Jon paused, inhaling the fresh air. "Akira… do you think we can pull this off, I don't want to be the cause of any more unnecessary deaths." Jon was starting to doubt himself and it showed on his face.

"You are our king, our Dragon King. You gave us hope the moment you rose from that shrine holding that dragon." He gestured to Skyfyre. "And it's not just that, you are a prodigy when it comes to battle tactics and swordsmanship, even though you're only five and ten. We don't just follow you because you have a dragon. We follow you because you can lead us to our salvation." Akira's expression hardened. "The men would die for you—some will die for you. But it won't be unnecessary, not when they fight to free themselves and their families from the noble clans rule."

Jon glanced away, he felt embarrassed. He had been a fool to doubt himself. Thousands of men counted on him, and he needed to be strong, because to fail in this campaign would mean certain death. He couldn't die, not here. Not when Arya was waiting for him to return.

"By the way, just who is this important someone you keep thinking about. Seems as though every once and awhile you get lost in your thoughts, and I'm sure it's because of this special someone," Akira asked, trying to hide his grin.

"Her names Arya and she is the women I will make my queen." Jon Snow had been a bastard and now he was Jon Targaryen, the King of the Rising Sun. Why couldn't he make Arya Stark his queen? They were cousins and he was a Targaryen. Surely their family would understand, and if not, they could all be damned, he thought and frowned. All that mattered was her happiness and anyone that would deny her was an enemy and no true friend at all.

Akira Ashina grinned, the whiteness of his teeth always managing to catch Jon's attention. "Ah, so that's why you kept refusing the women we sent to keep you company at night. I honestly started to think that you had, err, no interest… in women." Akira burst into laughter at his own comment.

"What!" Jon blurted out. "No, gods no! My body and soul are promised to Arya and her alone. I couldn't and wouldn't bed with any other women." A blush was trying to force its way out but Jon was fighting it fiercely. Jon tried to compose himself. He needed to change the subject. "By the way, I have been thinking about this for a while. I want you to be the King's Hand, I am sure you are familiar with the Hand of the King in Westeros."

"Your Grace. That would be a great honor!" He turned and dropped to one knee before Jon.

"Akira, we should also create a Kingsguard made up of our best warriors. I've asked Kasumi to look at potential candidates. Also, I think your daughter has the raw potential to be one of the best warriors this world has ever seen. I have yet to defeat her in our spars." Jon admitted embarrassingly. "So I was thinking, when she is ready and willing, she should be the first of my Kingsguard. I trust her with my life."

Tears welled up in Akira's eyes. "Your grace, I'm truly grateful. Yes, I do believe Kasumi will be filled with joy at the news. I will never be able repay this debt."

"You're wrong, it is me who will never be able to repay the debt to you, because of me… your clan almost got destroyed and many people you knew were killed. I am truly sorry." Jon felt guilt swelling up. He wouldn't be able to push his guilt aside anymore, the only thing that would make it better would be to free Nihon from this these cruel noble clans.

Akira frowned. "That's why we must succeed Jon, so their deaths would not have been in vain. Anyway, I must ride for the trade port, seems the traders won't deal with anyone but me, since I've done business with them before. I also need to calms things down, they are getting nervous about the rebellion and seem to fear retaliation from the noble clans. So I need to reassure them in person." Akira stood and bowed in respect before walking out of the solar.

Jon sat back down onto the leather chair and took one more glance at the map. There were four provinces that made up the island of Nihon: Mutsu province, which was located at the north of the island, closest to Lys. South was Izu province, which boarded both Mutsu and Kai provinces. Further south was Kai province, which could only be accessed from the north by large stone bridges. And Inaba province that boarded with Kai was the furthest from Mutsu and would be the most difficult to get to by foot.

He had also been taught all four of the noble clans that ruled: the Taira clan ruled Mutsu with an iron fist; the Minamoto clan ruled over Izu with just as much brutality; the Fujiwara clan was known to be cunning but ruthless nonetheless; and the Tachibana clan, who were rumored to be the cruelest of the noble clans.

The island of Nihon had a weak navy. And trying to invade the other provinces by sea was out of the question, so the only option left was by land. Jon knew that once they had defeated Kiyomori and recruited all the Taira soldiers that they could march south onto Izu and defeat the noble of that province with ease… unless the nobles joined their strength with one another and attacked, in which case they would be doomed. But judging from that he had heard, the nobles were proud and vain and would rather fight alone then make an alliance. Even if they made an alliance, Jon would have to liberate Izu from the Minamoto clan and join his strength with their fallen forces in order to stand a chance against the combined strength of both the Fujiwara and Tachibana clan.

It was risky, he knew. But there was a chance. The nobles wouldn't consider an alliance until one of them had fallen. Once Kiyomori was dead, there would a small window of opportunity where they could march south onto Izu and fight the Minamoto clan. Should Jon's forces prevail, he would have enough men to rival both remaining clans. So his enemies only chance would be to join forces and even then he didn't know if he would be able to defeat them in an open field, since both forces would have roughly the same amount of men.

All this thinking was making his head hurt. His enemies could wait till tomorrow. For now though, he just wanted to get to his bedchambers and sleep. With care he picked up Skyfyre who was bundled up in blankets. The dragon rested its long serpentine neck along Jon's chest. The walk from his solar to bedchambers was short but made more difficult since his eyes were blurry and muscles yearned for rest.

Reaching his room which was situated directly below the solar, Jon collapsed backwards onto the bed, with Skyfyre still in arms. He was much too tired to get up and put the dragon in her own bed, so he just fumbled to cover his lower half up with the fur blanket. Skyfyre rose onto all four limbs and walked down from his chest and nestled herself up against the soft pillow and Jon's side.

He closed his eyes and yawned, feeling the warmth of Skyfyre against his side.

"Jon Targaryen," someone said.

Jon thought it was one of the guards. "I'm trying to sleep," he mumbled, annoyed and tired. "Leave."

"That's very rude of you." The voice was soft yet strong. "I have journeyed a long way to meet with the Dragon King."

Jon's eyes fluttered open. He knew something was wrong, he had not heard the door open. Knuckling his eyes, he sat up quickly, searching for his katana. The blurriness disappeared and he saw a hooded man near and point his katana toward Jon and Skyfyre. "No sudden movements, I mean you no harm, I merely want to meet the famous king in person."

"Who are you?" He wanted to say but the words got caught in his throat. He had said he meant no harm, but why else sneak into his bedchambers and point a sword at him, if not to kill him. Should he yell for help? No, that would be foolish, he knew. The hooded man was skilled and Jon could tell, just by the way he handled the weapon. Any sudden movements would mean his life. With care he slowly picked Skyfyre up and wrapped her around his arms, trying his best to shield her from potential harm. The dragon's high pitch roar, made the hooded man step back. Smoke smouldered from her mouth and nose. Jon regained his composure as he said, "I'm impressed you got in here without raising any alarms. What is it that you want from me?" Jon eyed his own katana, but it was too far.

"I was offered a job to assassinate you." Jon held his breath in fear when he said those words. "But… it would be such a waste, after all I have been observing you for a while now, and I must say I am truly impressed. I was skeptical once I heard about the dragon, but when I saw her I knew—I knew that you would really be able to defeat the noble clans." The hooded man lowered his katana once he saw the dragon wouldn't be a threat.

"You're an assassin then?" Jon asked. His fears calming down once he noticed the man had meant no harm. He caressed Skyfyre's back, trying to calm the anxious dragon. Jon didn't want to deal with anymore of her fires.

"But of course. I actually heard something quite interesting before, it seems you are looking for an assassin yourself." Even in the darkness, Jon thought he saw the man smile, beneath the hood.

"How did you know?

"I am very talented at what I do, Jon Targaryen. I specialize in espionage, sabotage, infiltration, and assassination," the assassin said, glancing back at the window in which he had entered from. "I brought you a present, and proof of my allegiance."

"What kind of present," Jon said, hesitating. It all seemed too good to be true. Was this some kind of trick? But why go to all the trouble. If he had wanted him dead, he could have just killed him in his sleep.

The hooded assassin said nothing as he walked back to the window and picked up a long cloth covered objected that was positioned just below the window. "When I was observing you, I overheard a rather interesting conversation you had about Kiyomori Taira." He walked back to the bed and handed the object to Jon.

Cautious but curious, Jon slowly undid the lace that held the wrapped cloth together. Even though it was night, there was sufficient amount of light from the lit candles. "A sword," he said, confused, then noticed the Taira emblem that was carved into the hilt. "This… could it be?" His war council had told him that all noble clan leaders had specially made swords with their clans emblems engraved onto the hilts.

"I have assassinated your enemy, Your Grace."

Jon grinned at the turn of events. "I have never seen Kiyomori's Katana before. I'll have one of my war council verify." He gazed up to the hooded assassin. "What's your name?"

"Rokuro Koga, Your Grace. I wish to kill for you," he said, removing the hood and dropping to one knee.

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**Hope you liked it.**

** Follow this story if you want to read my upcoming chapters. By the way, I have already written to the end. But After each chapter release, I go through it and add more content and fix mistakes etc. Though there still might be mistakes and I apologies for that.**


	12. Chapter 12: Arya

**Here is chapter 12. Hope you enjoy.**

**Chapter 12**

* * *

**Arya**

"Arya, we shouldn't be this far from Winterfell, I mean, what if lord Robb finds out, we'll be in big trouble. We should start back," Mycah urged as the woods began to grow thick around them.

Arya gazed at the large green-brown trees: sentinel trees armored in grey-green needles, might oaks and ironwoods that towered over the smaller trees. They were miles east of Winterfell by now, deep in one of the many forests that surrounded the area. She glanced back over her shoulder. "Geez Mycah, you're such a girl. It's my thirteenth nameday and I want to explore! And you're the one who wanted to come with me. You can turn back anytime you want." Arya muttered swears at her useless friend, pondering why she ever thought it was a good idea to bring him along in the first place.

Arya had managed to sneak away after Robb and Sansa had thrown her a pretty dull feast in honor of her nameday. Without her parents overlooking the feast, it had been a small one with only a handful of people. The food had been good and at least they had remembered her favorite dessert. Not one of them had given her a gift that she had liked: gowns of cotton, silk and velvets were plentiful and she had to force herself not to make a face whenever they presented her the clothing.

She tightened her grip on Needles hilt. Jon Snow had been the only person to ever give her a gift that she had truly loved: a sword. If only other people paid enough attention to know that she wasn't interest in being a highborn lady like Sansa. Arya shook her head, forcing the thoughts out. She had managed to escape the boredom that was Winterfell, if only for a little while. Arya just wanted to explore outside of Winterfell. Robb would always say no or at least ask her to bring a couple of guards, but it just didn't feel the same.

"Arya… what if we run into murderers or—"

A sigh escaped her mouth. _Must I deal with his constant whining, _she thought, tempted to just run and leave him in the forest alone. "Don't worry, Mycah! Ghost and Nymeria are close. They are just hunting, and if we run into any unlikely trouble they will notice and help." Arya was starting to really get annoyed. _Gods, if I'd known he'd be so annoying, I would not have brought him along. _Arya held the Braavosi blade close, all the training she had done in the past few months, made her feel safe.

They continued to travel east, through the now denser woods. Arya smiled, she felt free for once. Though, she would have rather had Jon accompany her, but the thought was folly; Jon was gone, over the narrow sea to the Free Cities. It was the first time that he had missed her nameday. Jon would always seem to know what present she wanted. Needle was her favorite thus far.

Mycah was starting to fall behind and it annoyed Arya, she just wanted to reach the river and return back to Winterfell before her brother sent out a search party, in which case she would get scolded harshly, that she had no doubt.

A scream echoed through the forest. "Seven hells, Mycah," Arya shouted. She turned around to see what was wrong. She glared at him. It took her a moment to realize that something wasn't right, behind Mycah stood a hooded figure. Arya stepped back in horror, blood started to stain his dirt-stained white tunic. The crimson wound seemed to glimmer for a moment. Arya squinted and noticed that the glimmer had come from a steel blade that was protruding from his chest. Blood trickled down from the corners of his mouth, his eyes as wide as she'd ever seen.

As if instinct, Arya unsheathed Needle. Her heart pounded as she watched the life depart from her friend.

"Girl… you shouldn't play with dangerous things," the hooded man said. Slowly he pulled the blade out and Mycah fell dead onto the ground. "Now put that little thing on the ground before I'm forced to hurt you."

Before he could say anything else, Arya turned and sprinted in the opposite direction, "Ghost! Nymeria! Help please," she screamed as loud as she could, searching her surroundings for the direwolves. The pounding in her chest, made each pant painful, but she pushed through the ache and ran faster. Arya was fast, _faster_ than her attackers. At least she hoped she was.

The run lasted for what seemed like hours, and she could still hear distant shouts coming behind her. "Fuck," she screamed in frustration, exiting from the dense trees. She stopped in front of a cliff that overlooked a wide river; it happened to be her original destination from the start. _Maybe I lost em,_ she thought. The trees blocked her view. After a few minutes of intense staring, she relaxed. _Robb is going to kill me. _Arya heard twigs break in the distance, she quickly brought needle back up in a defensive stance.

Arya stepped back with caution, she heard more twigs break, and the sound was getting closer. Her sweaty palms tight around Needle, ready for any attackers that might come at her. Her heart skipped a beat as she watched Ghost and Nymeria walk out from the trees. "I'm so glad to see you two," she said, almost crying.

Ghost and Nymeria pricked their ears up at the same time. Snarling, they quickly turned toward the trees and bared their teeth. Both direwolves positioned themselves in front of Arya.

Hooded figures emerged. "Well, well, well. Look what we have here. Arya stark herself, we shall make a pretty coin from her. Shame about the boy though." They burst into laughter. Arya noticed their discomfort at the presence of the direwolves. They stared cautiously, unsheathing their weapons. "You best control your unnatural beasts, or we might have to hurt them," the hooded man said.

Arya glared at them. There was no means of escape, save jumping into the river that was suicide, the current looked furious. "This is your final warning. Leave before my direwolves rip your throats out!" she screamed, trying to sound confident. _Four of them. Ghost and Nymeria can easily take two, but the other two will probably take advantage and hurt them, before they can defend themselves_. Arya started to get nervous, the odds were against them and she would never forgive herself if Ghost or Nymeria got hurt, or worse, killed.

"Warning? Don't mock me, girl. I will skin these beasts in front of your eyes!" the man growled.

"Attack them!" Arya shouted in hopes she could catch them of guard and end this fast. Ghost and Nymeria instantly sprung forward toward their targets. Before the hooded figure at the far right could even move a muscle Ghost had his fangs deep in his throat, killing the man by ripping a chunk out of his throat. Nymeria managed to sink her fangs into the arm of the far left hostile, causing the hooded man to scream in pain. She brutally ripped his arm off then went for his throat.

Blood dripped from their mouths as both direwolves quickly retreated back to Arya, again forming a defensive wall in front of her. _Seven hells,_ she thought, gazing at the remaining attackers who were obviously disheartened by the brutal deaths. "Leave now! Or they will kill you like they did your friends." Arya stood their defiant, hoping that they would see the logic in running. To her surprise and relief, both men dropped their swords and fled back into the forest.

_It's my fault. _The thought made her tremble. Mycah was her friend; she brought him along with her stupid adventure and got him killed.

The anger inside of her exploded. "Ghost, Nymeria. Hunt down those fucking animals," she said in a cold tone. Both direwolves looked at her, then turned and sprung forward, disappearing into the trees.

The exhaustion washed over her suddenly; only now did she feel how much the exertion had taken its toll. Feeling dizzy she took a step back. She had forgotten about the cliff, without realizing how close she was to the edge, she stepped back once more. Her heart stopped. It was too late. "Fuck!" she screamed, tumbling over the edge.

**-0-**

Arya awoke on the bank of the river. The bright orange sun burned her face and the wetness of her clothing made her shiver. "Cold," he mumbled, sitting up and wrapping her arms around her herself. "_Nymeria. Ghost_," she said, in-between coughs. "Where are you!" she pleaded, looking around. _Where's_ _Needle. Oh god, where is it! _She panicked, searching. Her only keepsake of Jon, if she had lost it… _Thank the gods,_ thought Arya. The Braavosi blade was miraculously by her side.

Arya used her hands and knees to stand up. The effort alone left her panting and moaning in discomfort. She noticed an opening in the trees and decided to make for it. Standing around wasn't going to get her anywhere and she needed to find out where she was so she could get back to Winterfell. The tall ironwoods were everywhere in evidence, green bushes cluttered the area around the base of the trees.

The bushes scratched at her skin, and the dampness of her clothing made her want to scream in frustration, Arya hated the feeling. She walked and walked and was yet to find an exit, the trees seemed endless. Holding Needle for comfort, she reluctantly continued to walk deeper into the forest. Hours past, yet all she saw were trees and wildlife.

Arya froze in place when she heard yelling coming from the distant. Cautiously, she walked toward the noise, brushing aside low hanging branches and bushes. _Maybe it's one of my father's banner men, _she thought, hoping at least. The shouts become louder the closer the neared. Arya crouched near a glade, doing her best to try and stay hidden. Her eyes widened, fierce fighting was raging between two different groups, in what appeared to be a small village.

"You should have just given us the bastard!" the knight yelled.

The knight was engaged in a bloody battle with a man dressed in black. _Nights watch, _she thought, recognizing the clothing. _Just great. I almost get killed by murderers, then I fall into the bloody river and almost drawn, and now this. _Arya sighed at her own misfortune.

"You Lannister whore." Spat the man in black defending and blocking each of the knight's swings. Soon he was on the offensive pushing the knight back with his own furious slashes. Arya saw many other people engaged in combat. It was a bloodbath. Fire had spread amongst the nearby houses and what appeared to be an inn with stables. Arya shivered when she heard the painful screams and shrieks of animals burning alive in the stables.

Arya swallowed nervously, she wasn't safe here but she felt too exhausted to move. _Just stay hidden and you'll be alright, _she told herself. The fighting was raging everywhere in the village. _Lion, _she thought, noticing the emblem on a nearby banner._ Must be Lannister bannermen. _She was confused, why would Lannister men attack the nights watch?

The black brothers were putting up a descent fight but would not last long against Lannister bannermen who were clad in armour and had proper steel in their hands. _Must be recruits for the night's watch, _she concluded, gazing at the odd bunch of young and old men who were opposing the Lannister men best they could.

The battle was almost one sided. A wagon that was left next to the burning inn caught her attention. Arya squinted and she saw a man in chains, he looked odd with his long hair which was white on one side and red on the other.

"Girl," he called out. "Sweet girl." Smoke was heavy around the wagon, and the fire would consume it soon. "Kind girl, I can see you… won't you pass the axe that's just over there, a man can die in this fire," he said, In-between coughs. The shackled man gestured frantically toward the axe which was laid against a nearby tree.

Arya didn't know what to do. Deep inside she knew she should let the man die, and get away quickly. _His in chains, he must be some murderer or something._ She remembered the screams of the dying animals in the stable and didn't think she could let the man burn alive and listen to his screams as well.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" she mumbled to herself, stumbling out of from the safety of the trees. Arya looked around before jogging toward the axe; legs aching with each step. Anxiously, she quickly grabbed the axe and glanced over her shoulder, making sure no one spotted her. The smoke was thick and burned her eyes, but she moved toward the wagon nevertheless. Arya was coughing as much as the man in chains by the time she reached the wagon. The smoke obscured her vision of the man, so she just threw it into the wagon and hoped he would make it out alive.

She collapsed onto her knees once she reached the safety of the trees. Trying to catch her breath she glanced around and made sure she had not been spotted. "Damn it," she mumbled, taking in deep breaths. Arya gazed back to the wagon which was barely visible now. She heard the axe clash through the wood repeatedly and an instant later came a _crack_ as loud as thunder. She saw his silhouette jump of the wagon and run away just before it burst into flames. "He made it." At least she didn't risk her life for nothing.

Arya shrieked when a hand grab her hair. Before she could react she was thrown back out into the open. "Look what we got here. Seems I missed this one." the knight dressed in steel from head to toe smirked. He bore the colors of House Lannister. Arya grabbed the unsheathed Braavosi blade and brought it up to in self-defense, while attempting to shuffle back with her free hand. "Girl. Put down that little thing before someone gets hurt." Arya noticed the way he licked his lips and didn't like it one bit.

She quickly jumped to her feet with energy she didn't know she had. "Stay back! Or, or I'll kill you!" Arya screamed, pointing Needle up to the knight's face. She stepped back searching for any means of escape. Arya knew if she was captured… bad things would happen and she would never allow it.

Her chance came when the knight was momentarily distracted by a collapsing roof from one of the nearby houses. Arya turned left and attempted to run into the smoke, hoping she would be able to escape and hide in the smoke. Just as she entered the smoke, a mailed hand grabbed her by the arm. All the training she had done in Winterfell paid off, without realizing she had spun around and thrust Needle deep into the neck of the knight, right between the his visor and breastplate. The Lannister knight grabbed his neck as blood gushed from the wound, he attempted to call for help, but the knight was choking on his own blood. Thrice he grunted before collapsing onto his knees then finally onto the ground.

Arya looked at the dead knight. _I killed him. But he was an animal, he deserved it._ She felt nothing in that moment. Looking at the trees once more, she ran for it, into the forest. Arya just wanted to get away from this place.

"Kind girl." Someone called from behind.

Arya spun around, Needle still in hand, ready to defend herself. She saw the odd looking man she had saved before. "Girl is stronger than she looks." He smiled.

"You scared me. What do you want?" She remembered that he had been in chains. She tightened the grip on her Braavosi blade. Was he like the knight she had just killed? Would he want to hurt her as well? Her heart raced.

"A man pays his debts. A man owes one."

"One?" Arya was confused.

"The Red God has his due, sweet girl, and only death may pay for life. This girl took one that was his. Speak a name and a man will do the rest."

_He wants to help me,_ Arya realized with a rush of hope that made her feel dizzy. "But there isn't anyone I want dead."

"Then what does Arya of House Stark want?"

Arya was stunned at the fact that he knew who she was. "How do you know how I am?"

"A man knows."

"Just who are you?" she asked.

"This man has the honor to be Jaqen H'ghar, once of the Free City of Lorath." Arya felt his gaze. "Do you want to return back home?"

_Free cities,_ she thought. "Find me," Jon had told her many times in her dreams. He had told her he was going to the free cities on the night he had left. She felt conflicted, Jaqen would take her back to Winterfell if she asked, but Arya knew deep down inside that what she truly wanted was to find Jon.

Jaqen broke the silence. "I would have thought my lady of Stark would have wanted to return back home. But seems you ponder something else," Jaqen said softly.

"I want to go to the free cities," she told him, being honest with her feelings. It felt like a burden had been lifted. Honestly, she had been thinking about it a lot lately. _I'll find you no matter what._ Arya did feel guilty though, she would be leaving her family. But they would understand, wouldn't they? Jon was the love of her life and she needed to find him, no matter what.

"_Interesting._ And what would Arya of House Stark do in the Free Cities." Jaqen seemed intrigued.

"Be free."

A strange smile touched the lips of Jaqen H'ghar. "A debt must be paid, but for now a man must die and be reborn."

"Die, reborn?" she said, confused. What did he mean? "You don't need to die."

"I do. My time is done." Jaqen passed a hand down his face from forehead to chin, and where it went he _changed._ His cheeks grew fuller, his eyes closer; his nose hooked, a scar appeared on his right cheek where no scar had been before. And when he shook his head, his long straight hair, half red and half white, dissolved away to reveal a cap of tight black curls.

Arya's mouth hung open. "Who _are_ you?" she whispered in awe. "How did you do that, was it hard?"

He smiled. "No harder than taking a new name, if you know the way."

"Show me," she blurted. "I want to do it too."

"If you would learn, you must come with me," Jaqen said.

Arya grew hesitant. "Where?"

"Far and away, across the narrow sea," he said and grinned, revealing a shiny gold tooth. "To Braavos."

"_Braavos,_" Arya echoed. It was the perfect chance to get to the free cities and look for Jon. Jaqen H'ghar seemed real strong so wouldn't be in much danger if he was with her. Maybe the gods had sent him to her. She smiled. "When do we leave?" Before Jaqen could reply, Ghost and Nymeria jumped out of the bushes and trotted to her. Jaqen instinctively stepped back and unsheathed his sword halfway.

"Stop! They are my direwolves." Arya giggled, crouching to caress the direwolves. Nymeria started licking her face playfully, while Ghost still had his fangs bared toward Jaqen. "Ghost," she called to him, "his not an enemy." The white direwolf turned to Arya, looking at her before he padded toward her and also started to lick her face. "I must have had you both worried." Arya rubbed both the wolflings fur necks.

"Beautiful yet deadly," Jaqen muttered. "With us they cannot come."

"I know," she murmured. "Ghost, Nymeria. I have to go find Jon. You can't come with us," she said. "Go back to Winterfell. I will come back when I have find Jon, I promise." To Arya's surprise, both direwolves seemed to understand her as they padded back the way they had come from. Nymeria looked back once more at Arya before finally disappearing from sight.

Arya turned to Jaqen, "I'm ready to go."

"Lesson one, Arya of House Stark, _Valar morghulis." _

_"Valar morghulis,"_ she repeated. "What does it mean?" she asked. But in response Jaqen H'ghar just smiled at her and started walking through the dense forest.

"Arya Stark," he said. "Say it again, _Valar morghulis._"

_"Valar morghulis."_

Jaqen looked over his shoulder and smiled. "Just so."

"Where are we going?" Arya asked, following him.

"White Harbor.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed it. **

**I wrote this about three months ago. But for some reason when I was re-editing and adding content to this chapter, I just couldn't be bothered. I did add some more stuff though, but not enough. Anyway I hope it was still enjoyable!**


	13. Chapter 13: Robb

**Here is another chapter. **

**Hope you enjoy the read.**

**Chapter 13**

* * *

**Robb**

Nightfall was upon Winterfell and the direwolves howling had started once again. Summer's howls were long and filled with emotion, full of longing for the missing siblings. Shaggydog's were more savage while both Grey wind's and Lady's were more tamed, yet still as powerful. Their voices echoed through the yards and halls until the castle rang and it seemed as though some great pack of direwolves haunted Winterfell, instead of only four... four where there had once been six. _Do they miss their brother and sister?_ Robb wondered. _Are they calling to Ghost and Nymeria? Do they want them to come home and be a pack together once more?_

"Who can know the mind of a wolf?" Ser Rodrik Cassel said when Robb asked him why they howled for so long. Robb's lord father had named him castellan of Winterfell in his absence, and his duties left him little time for idle questions. And with Arya and the direwolves missing, Robb not could blame the poor wolves. Days had past and the news he received from the search parties that left him anxious and worried. More worried than he had ever felt.

And still the direwolves howled, all through the night. The guards on the walls muttered curses, hounds in the kennels barked furiously, horses kicked at their stalls, and even Maester Luwin complained of sleepless nights. Only Bran and Rickon did not mind. Ser Rodrik had confined the wolves—save Lady—to the godswood after Shaggydog attempted to bite Farlen, who was the kennelmaster and had no more love for the direwolves than his hounds did. The stones of Winterfell played queer tricks with sound, and sometimes it sounded as if they were in the yard right below Robb's window. Other times he would have sworn they were up on the curtain walls, loping round like sentries.

"Robb, it's been days and there's still no sign of Arya," Sansa said as she entered their father's solar with Lady by her side, worry deep in her ocean-blue eyes. Robb found it odd that Lady wasn't howling like her siblings. "I know she's alive, I just know it."

They had sent out search parties the moment Arya had disappeared. And when they received a raven telling of the butcher's boy, _Mycah`s_ murder, Robb Stark had feared the worst. Another raven brought news of the discovery of four bodies. All had their throats and limbs ripped apart. When they had brought the bodies to Winterfell, Robb could tell by just by looking at them that it had been direwolves who killed them, no other beast could have savaged someone so bad. It could only mean that the bandits had attacked Arya and the butcher's boy. But the search parties had yet to find any trace of Arya. Robb didn't know what else to do. _Damn it, she couldn't be dead. _The thought sent daggers through his heart.

He glanced at Sansa who had been crying. Even though they had fights often, they were sisters still. "Worry not, Sansa," Robb said, rising from his chair and embracing his saddened sister. "We will find her, I promise." Sansa gave him a weak nod, eyes starting to fill with tears once more.

If not for his lordly duties as castellan of Winterfell, Robb Stark would been out there searching for his lost sister. Ghost and Nymeria had to be with her, the thought gave him some comfort but not enough. _She would of come home by now. _If someone had kidnapped her, surely they would have sent letters of ransom. A highborn lady of an old noble house would be worth her weight in gold, if not more. Robb would not even consider the possibility she was dead. But the direwolves constant howling was tearing at his resolve. _Are the direwolves dead? Is Arya dead? _Robb shook his head and muttered "no." But what if all the howling was the direwolves form of mourning for their dead siblings? _No, they just miss their brother and sister, _Robb reassured himself.

"Arya will be alright. She is a Stark after all," Robb said. "For now though, try and get some sleep. Perhaps news of Arya will arrive on the morrow." Sansa had slept little since the news of Arya's disappearance. Not that Robb or even Bran did. Rickon, only three, had no idea what was going on so he slept well and for that Robb was glad.

Sansa nodded and mumbled, "I'll try." Lady bounded to her feet as she left the solar, leaving Robb to sit alone in the dimly lit room.

Robb relaxed into the leather chair and sighed. With the direwolves howling and his own fears running wild, he knew sleep would come hard.

**-0-**

Long before the first pale fingers of light pried apart Robb's shutters, his eyes were open. He had slept little, perhaps a few hours at most.

Maester Luwin was breathing heavily by the time he entered Robb's bedchambers. "My lord, I apologize for you waking you so early. We've received a raven from Kings landing." Robb could tell it wasn't good news. Maester Luwin had a wary expression. "It's about the king and your lord father, the hand of the king." He offered the parchment.

Robb sat up and grabbed the letter, noticing the king's seal. He broke the seal, opened the letter and began to read.

_Robert Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm is dead, killed by a wild boar while on a hunt. The hand of the king, Lord Eddard Stark has been found guilty of treason, for plotting against the new king, Joffrey Baratheon. Stannis and Renly Baratheon have fled the capital and have been declared traitors for as long as they refuse this summons of fealty. _

"_Treason?_" Robb asked, shocked at the accusation against his father.

"Lies, my lord. I assure you, Lord Eddard is an honorable and just man, he would not commit treason." Robb knew it was a lie. Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knew of his father's honor. "You have been summoned to Kings landing to swear fealty to the new king," Maester Luwin said.

Robb glanced at the maester then back at the parchment and continued to read: a long list of names was written, commanding each in the name of king and council to present themselves and swear their fealty to Joffrey Baratheon. Failing that, they would be adjudged traitors, their lands and titles forfeit to the throne. There were so many names written; most he knew by name, some he had met in person.

At the end of the long letter, came the names Robb had been expecting. _Robb Stark. Brandon Stark, Rickon Stark, Sansa Stark, Arya Stark._ He made a face when he read Arya's name.

He crumpled the letter in his hand. "And of my mother, has there been any word?" Robb asked, fearful.

"None, my lord." Maester Luwin noticed the way Robb tore the letter into pieces. "This is a _royal_ command, my lord."

"Joffrey puts my father in chains, and now he wants his arse kissed?" Robb Stark was consumed by anger and sadness. First his best friend and half-brother Jon Snow disappeared without saying as much as a goodbye. Arya was missing, captured by gods know who, or dead. And now his father and mother were held captive in the capital.

"If you should refuse to obey—"

"I won't refuse," Robb said quickly. "His Grace summons me to Kings Landing. I'll go to Kings Landing. But not alone... call the banners."

"All of them, my lord?"

"They have all sworn to defend my father, have they not?"

"They have," Maester Luwin said slowly.

"Now we'll see how much their words are worth."

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**Hope you enjoyed the short chapter.**

**Next chapter will be from Vary's Pov.**


	14. Chapter 14: Master Of Whisperers

**Here is the next chapter.  
**

**Hope you Enjoy the read.**

**Chapter 14**

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**Master of whisperers**

In the ivory white raiment of the Kingsguard, Ser Arys Oakheart looked like a sweating corpse in a shroud. The day had been warm, much warmer then what Kings Landing was used to. Little birds had come and gone, from the many secret passages that were under the capital. Some bearing messages of importance, while others less so. But the Master of Whisperers knew that all information had it uses. "Her Grace called a meeting. The council has been in session for a while now." Ser Arys gave him a curious look. "It isn't like you to be late, Lord Varys."

"My little birds kept me," Varys said, smiling. "If I may." He gestured at the door behind the white knight.

Ser Arys stood aside and bobbed his head. "You may enter, my lord."

Varys walked leisurely through the door. Four members of the king's small council were present and broke off their discussion suddenly when they noticed his presence.

"You're late," Cersei Lannister, the queen regent said in a tone that made it clear she was not amused. "We've been waiting."

"I apologize, Your Grace," he said, taking his seat next to Grand Maester Pycelle. "But my little birds have brought me very important tidings from far and near." He took note of the boy kings absence. _Aegon will have his time, _he thought. But his little birds had brought him some very disturbing news, news that put him in a very bad position. _Jon Targaryen has hatched a dragon. _Eddard Stark had done his best to hide his nephew's heritage, but he wasn't called the Master of Whisperers for nothing. Though Aegon Targaryen was a few months older than his half-brother and the rightful king of Westeros, the news he was receiving from Nihon made him nervous_. _Varys had hoped to bring Jon to Aegon's side once they were men grown, but with Jon's sudden disappearance from Winterfell and his resurface in Nihon, the plan had fallen apart.

Jon had a living dragon now, the first in over a century. Varys doubted he would put down his crown for Aegon. _Not when he has a dragon and an army. _Should Jon prevail in his conquest of Nihon and sail back to Westeros with his army and dragon… Varys needed to make plans, and soon. _Aegon is the rightful king,_ he thought, considering his options.

He focused his attention back to the small council. Petyr Baelish sat feigning boredom while Pycelle gaped like a fish, pale and confused. Tyrion Lannister glanced at Varys when he heard about the little birds. "What news may that be, Lord Varys?" Tyrion asked, pouring himself a cup of summerwine.

"With Lord Eddard and his lady wife in chains, it seems that Robb Stark hasn't taken kindly to the news and has called his banners. The north has risen for the boy and is preparing to march south," Varys said softly, wringing powdered hands together. "But, I don't think that is much of a surprise, considering…"

Cersei sighed. "A green boy. He will run with his tail between his legs once he tastes true battle."

"Perhaps," Tyrion said slowly, glancing over to Varys. "Any other news of importance?"

The Master of Whisperers nodded and pulled a paper from his long purple sleeve and handed it to the queen. Cersei unrolled the paper with curiosity and read. "Who is the source of this information?"

"Ser Jorah Mormont." Varys began, "he is the heir to the poor and distant lands of Bear Island. Ser Jorah had tried to swell the family coffers by selling some poachers to a Tyroshi slaver. And as the Mormonts were bannermen to the Starks, his crime had dishonored the north. Lord Stark had taken it onto himself to make the long journey west to Bear Island, in order to punish the slaver, only to find when he arrived that Jorah had taken ship beyond the reach of Ice and the king's justice. Years have passed since then."

"Can we even trust this _slaver?_" Cersei asked, looking over the letter once more.

Varys nodded. "Ser Jorah is now in Pentos, anxious to earn a royal pardon that would allow him to return from exile," he explained. "What he writes is true. Daenerys Targaryen has wed a Dothraki horselord by the name of Khal Drogo and is no doubt planning to invade the Seven Kingdoms. It is said that the savage has over fifty thousand men in his horde." He sighed. Another Targaryen and another problem he had to make plans for. Varys knew that marrying Aegon to Daenerys would bear no fruit. If Aegon was to conquer Westeros, he needed to marry someone from another powerful house, the Martells most like. And from what Ser Jorah had been writing, Varys figured Daenerys would not give up her queenship for her nephew, even if his claim was better.

"So she has wed some Dothraki horselord. What of it? Shall we send her a wedding gift?" Tyrion chuckled. "The narrow sea would still lie between us. I shall fear the Dothraki the day they teach their horses to run on water."

The queen regent frowned. "A wedding gift you say? A knife should do. A good sharp one, and a bold man to wield it." Her tone was as cruel as ever.

The hand of the king's smile faded. "The girl is scarcely more than a child."

"This _child_ will soon enough spread her legs to the savage and start breeding more Targaryens to plague us," Cersei said. "She must die, before she births a son and comes to claim the Iron Throne."

"Nonetheless," Tyrion said, "the murder of children… it would be a vile act."

Varys would be inclined to agree with Tyrion on the matter of the murder of children. But Daenerys actions would do much more harm than good, if she invaded Westeros with a Dothraki army. The savages would tear the realm asunder. Varys gave the queen regent an unctuous smile, then glanced back at Tyrion. "I understand your qualms, Lord Tyrion, truly I do. It gave me no joy to bring this grievous news to council. It is a terrible thing we contemplate, a _vile_ thing. Yet we who presume to rule must do vile things for the good of the realm, however much it pains us."

And it did pain the Master of Whisperers. It was said that Rhaegar's little girl Rhaenys had cried as they dragged her from beneath her bed to face the swords. The feigned boy had been no more than a babe in arms, yet Lord Tywin's soldiers had torn him from his mother's breast and dashed his head against a wall, believing it was Aegon Targaryen. _For the good of the realm, _Varys told himself as he listened to the small council's assassination plan unfold.

When the majority agreed on a few possible solutions, their attention turned back to the Starks and Baratheons. "Your Grace," Tyrion said mockingly, still annoyed that his pleas for reconsideration fell on deaf ears. "We must broker a peace with the Starks at once. We need them on our side. Renly has already secured the support of House Tyrell and all its bannermen by wedding Margaery Tyrell. And with the strength of both the Reach and the Stormlands behind him, he already has a massive army, rumored to number over a hundred thousand."

Littlefinger nodded. "We should also be concerned about Stannis. He may only have a small force at the moment, but he has a considerable amount of ships. And Dragonstone is too close to Kings Landing. Should he rally more men to his cause and decide to invade by sea, we will have a hard time repealing the attack."

"To make matters worse," Varys added, "if the Starks decide to march south, we will become surrounded. Our forces are already divided as is. I fear we will not be able to stop them all, and should Robb Stark broker an alliance with Renly or Stannis..."

The council chamber went silent.

Grand Maester Pycelle cleared his throat, a process that seemed to take some minutes. "Maybe if Lord Eddard takes the black to pay for his treason and we release Catelyn Tully, we could calm things done with the northerners, and have them aid us against the Baratheon brothers," Pycelle suggested, in-between coughs.

Cersei's annoyance at Pycelle's constant coughing was obvious. "Only if he confesses his crimes in front of the people. He dared to say my son had no claim to the Iron Throne!" Cersei was panting from the outburst. "After his confession, I'm sure Joff will allow him to take the black."

The small council nodded at the punishment. Littlefinger was adamant it would be the best choice and told them of Lord Eddard's younger brother who was also in the Nights Watch and how he was rumored to be the next Lord Commander after Jeor Mormont.

"What other tidings have we, Lord Varys?" Tyrion asked, refilling his cup with more summerwine.

The Master of Whisperers decided against telling them of Jon Targaryen and his dragon, instead he said, "I hear whispers about a rebellion in Nihon, it seems someone they call the Dragon King has declared war on the four noble clans. The war over there means our trade with Nihon has been affected severely." He knew the information about the King of The Rising Sun and his rebellion would reach Westeros, but he needed to keep Jon's identity a secret for now, until he figured out a way to find out whether he would bend the knee to his brother or resist. A dragon at Aegon's side would undoubtedly rally many Great Houses to his cause.

The queen regents sigh was loud. "Forget about Nihon. It's those Baratheon brothers at our throats that we should be concerned about," Cersei snarled.

"For now though," Varys said with a sigh. "We should focus on the matters at hand. We need to bring the northerners to our side before one of the other Baratheons do."

Cersei nodded. "Tomorrow then, at the Great Sept of Baelor, we shall have Lord Eddard confess his crimes in front of the crowds. Then we'll send him to the wall and Catelyn to Winterfell, after which we broker a peace with the Starks and end this madness," Cersei said, standing. "I shall go inform the king."

After the queen left, Varys stood and bowed at the small council, and turned on his heel. He could feel Littlefinger's eyes on his back. As he strode from the council chambers, further discussions about Daenerys Targaryen resumed with scarcely a pause. "On Braavos there is a society called the Faceless Men," Grand Maester Pycelle offered.

"Do you have any idea how _costly_ they are?" Littlefinger complained. "You could hire an army of common sellswords for half the price, and that's for a merchant. I don't dare think what they might ask for a princess. The assassin clan in Nihon is much cheaper and just as good," he countered.

The closing of the door behind him silenced the voices. Ser Arys Oakheart who was stationed outside the chamber was replaced by Ser Boros Blount. He must have overheard the conversation as he gave Varys a quick, curious glance, but asked no questions.

The day had gotten much warmer than before as he crossed the bailey and walked to the Tower of the Hand. The secret passage that would lead to the dungeons was located in the Hand of the Kings very own bedchambers.

**-0-**

Varys disguised himself with clothing from one of the many ironwood chests that he had placed strategically within the secret passages. In public he wore comfortable clothing, such as fine silks, velvets, the richest damasks and soft slippers that allowed him to walk without making any sound. Now he wore a heavy brown robe in roughspun. The cracked, mud-caked boots smelled of sweat. His face hidden by a cowl, with hands drawn up into voluminous sleeves. After his transformation from the Master of Whisperers to the dungeon turnkey, he descended through the passages toward the dungeons.

He found Lord Stark trembling in the dark, muttering to himself. "Gods save me," Eddard wept. "I am going mad."

Varys reached into the volumes of sleeves and pulled out the iron keys and searched for the key that would open the cell. As the door creaked open, Lord Eddard put a hand to the damp wall and pushed himself toward the light. "Food," he croaked.

"Wine," Varys replied, offering the wineskin. "Drink, Lord Eddard." He thrust the wineskin into the trembling lord's hands.

_"Varys?"_ Eddard said groggily. He touched Varys face. "I'm not… not dreaming this. You're here."

"I am and I bring news." He watched as Eddard gulped down the wine. "The queen will pardon your crimes. That is if you announce your treason for the world to hear and take the black."

Varys knew that in order for Aegon to have the best chance of taking the Iron Throne, the Seven Kingdoms must suffer a king who is worse than the mad king himself. And Joffrey Baratheon was turning out to be such a king. The whispers he hears of the boy kings activities, oft as not leaves him shuddering the thought. _They will rise for Aegon after they suffer through the Lannister's reign. _And at this rate, it would be a short reign. But Aegon still needed time, to gather forces and allies. So Varys would do what he can to help keep the Lannisters in power, and Lord Eddard taking the black in order to stop his son from marching south was one of his duties.

_"Treason?"_ Eddard spat it out like venom. "Stannis Baratheon is Robert's true heir. The throne is his by rights."

Varys _tsked_. "Cersei will not want to hear that, I promise you. Stannis may win the throne, but only your rotting head will remain to cheer unless you guard that tongue of yours. Lady Catelyn begged and begged for your life, it would be a shame if you threw it all away. You are being given your life back, if you'll take it. Cersei is no fool. She knows a tame wolf is of more use than a dead one."

"You want me to _serve_ the woman who murdered my king and butchered my men?" His voice was thick with disbelief.

"I want you to serve the realm," Varys told him. "Tell the queen that you will confess your vile treason, command your son to lay down his sword, and proclaim Joffrey as the true heir. Offer to denounce Stannis and Renly as faithless usurpers. Cersei knows you are a man of honor. If you will give her the peace she needs and the time to deal with Stannis, I believe she will allow you to take the black and live out the rest of your days on the Wall, with your brother."

"My son?" Eddard's eyes widened. "Robb is only a boy," he said, aghast.

"A boy with an army," Varys said. "Yet only a boy, as you say."

Eddard sat silent in the cell. "Tell me, Lord Varys, who do you truly serve?"

Varys smiled thinly at the question. "I serve the realm, my lord, and the realm needs peace." He waited until Eddard finished the last swallow of wine. "So what is your answer, Lord Eddard? Give me your word that you'll tell the queen what she wants to hear when she comes calling."

"If I did, my word would be as hollow as an empty suit of armor. My life is not so precious to me as that."

"Such a pity." Varys frowned and stood. "And your wife's life, my lord? How precious is that?"

"Surely you did not think I'd forgotten about your wife, my lord? The queen most certainly has not. And should the north march south and lose, the heads of your children will line the Red Keep."

_"No,"_ Eddard pleaded, his voice cracking. "Varys, gods have mercy, do as you like with me, but leave my family out of your schemes. They are no more than children."

"Rhaenys was a child too. Prince Rhaegar's daughter. A precious little thing, younger than your girls. She had a small black kitten she called Balerion, did you know? I always wondered what happened to him. Rhaenys liked to pretend he was the true Balerion, the Black Dread of old, but I imagine the Lannisters taught her the difference between a kitten and a dragon quick enough, the day they broke down her door." Varys gave a long weary sigh. "The High Septon once told me that as we sin, so do we suffer. If that's true, Lord Eddard, tell me … why is it always the innocents who suffer most, when you high lords play your game of thrones? Ponder it, if you would, while you wait upon the queen. And spare a thought for this as well: The next visitor who calls on you could bring you bread and cheese and the milk of the poppy for your pain… or he could bring you the heads of your children.

"I'll do it," Eddard said, defeated. "I'll confess… _my crimes_."

Varys nodded in relief. "Take the black, my lord. Take the black and convince your son to lay down his sword. Do that, save the realm from needless bloodshed, and I will tell you where your nephew's at."

"_Jon?_ He… you know? Don't you?"

Varys simply smiled, nodded and left the darkness of the cell.

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**Really hope you enjoyed this chapter.**


	15. Chapter 15: Arya

**Here is the next Arya Pov chapter. **

**Sorry for any mistakes. I get so excited when I finish a chapter that I just glance over it a bit then release it straight away. Making mistakes is my peeve, so if I find any mistakes later on, I will fix, then get embarrassed by it. =]  
**

**Enjoy the read.**

**Chapter 15**

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** Arya**

The journey south, down along the White Knife had been long and slow but filled with adventure. With Jaqen H'ghar, the mysterious Lorathi who could change his face, she felt safe; not that they faced any trouble. Arya was excited when she first stepped foot into White Harbor and surprised by how well-ordered and clean the walled city was.

Jaqen H'ghar seemed to have an endless amount of coin as they slept in one of the more expensive inns of White Harbor. They provided the innkeepers with false names, just to be safe. He was kind enough to buy another room for her to sleep in. The bed was large and soft and layered with wool blankets; serving girls would fill the tub with scolding water and scrub her clean whenever she desired. Meals were brought to her room at the same time every day. For days she slept well, ate well, bathed well and explored the harbor while waiting for Jaqen to find them passage.

Arya often wondered if Jon had slept as well as her. He should have passed through White Harbor and found voyage to the free cities, like he said he would. She asked dozens of traders, sailors and passersby about him, though she reframed from using names, just descriptions. She wasn't surprised when none recognized him, the harbor was busy day and night and doubtless anyone would pay enough attention to remember a fourteen-year-old boy passing through.

Thoughts of finding him was what kept her up at night. Braavos was her destination and there were nine Free Cities in Essos and he could be in Braavos right now, waiting, or so she hoped. But all that certainty of finding him had been reduced to ashes early one morning when Jaqen had awoken her and explained in his Lorathi accent about how he had to take care of some urgent business and that he wouldn't be able to travel with her across the narrow sea. Speechless, Arya had just sat there and listened; betrayed and angry.

**-0-**

_Valar morghulis, _Arya thought, laying in her feathered bed, fingers closed tight over the coin he had left her a week ago. _"Valar morghulis,"_ she repeated in a hushed voice. _"Give that coin to any man from Braavos__ and say those words and he will take you where you need to go. We will meet again, Arya of House Stark, and when we do, you must give a man a name for the red god has his due,__"_ Jaqen H'ghar had told her then disappeared.

Sitting up and stretching, only now did she notice the faint light shining through the shuttered windows. Candles that were lit the day before had burned and melted and left wax stubs. The fire in the hearth had all but extinguished; ash and smouldering wood remained. Morning had come and Arya Stark needed to traverse the harbor once more, searching for a ship that would take her to Braavos. Coin would not be an issue as Jaqen had left her a few gold dragons and silver stags to see her through.

An hour past before the serving girls entered the room with breakfast and asked if she wanted the tub filled. Arya had bathed two days past and didn't think she needed to again so soon, but decided to anyway; should she did find a ship to take her to Braavos, it would be the last time until she reached Braavos that she could scrub herself clean. It took half a dozen trips for the skinny serving girls to carry in big kettles of water and fill the tub full.

Arya climbed out of her smallclothes and kicked them aside. The bath was scalding hot when the oldest serving girl Myriah helped her into the tub, but Arya did not flinch or cry aloud. She liked the heat and steam. It made her feel clean. The girls had scented the water with lemons; the steam rose moist and fragrant. Elenei the youngest of the bunch washed her hair and combed it out, working loose the mats and tangles. Myriah scrubbed her back. Arya closed her eyes and let the smell and the warmth enfold her.

Once the water had gone cold, Arya rose from the bath. Water ran down her legs and trickled from her dark-brown hair which was plastered to her cheeks. Her skin smelled of fresh lemons and the knots in her hair had disappeared; which fell straight down over her collarbone. The clothing she had asked the serving girls to wash the day before was placed neatly on the bed. The silver stags she was paying to stay in the inn, Arya expected nothing less.

_I need to get to Braavos, _she thought, donning the fresh clothing; the same ones she had come to the harbor with. Arya just wanted to find safe passage to the Free Cities; Jon was her goal after all, but at the back of her mind the guilt of leaving her family was still present and kept tearing at her resolve. She shook her head, pushing the thoughts and feelings aside. "I'll find him," she muttered and reached for Needle. Once the Braavosi blade was securely attached to her belt and her cloak fastened, she headed for the door and left the inn, thanking the serving girls for the bath on her way out.

The morning wind washed over her, the scent of the ocean strong. The inner walls of White Harbor were packed with traders and sailors and people passing by. As usual she was careful, pulling the hood over her head. Even though she doubted anyone would recognize her, it would only take one suspicious guard for everything to fall apart. Everyone had said she and Jon had the strongest Stark features of all the Stark kids.

Arya found it odd that there were much less guards on duty then the days before. _Something must have happened, _she concluded, but paid it no mind as she continued her way around the cobbled streets toward Fishfoot Yard.

Inside the yard was a cobbled square with a fountain at its center. A stone merman rose from its waters, twenty feet tall from tail to crown. His curly beard was green and white with lichen, and one of the prongs of his trident had broken off, yet somehow he still managed to impress Arya. _Old Fishfoot_ was what the locals called him. The square was named for some dead lord, but no one ever called it anything but Fishfoot Yard.

The Yard was swarming this morning. A woman was washing her smallclothes in Fishfoot's fountain and hanging them off his trident to dry. Beneath the arches of the peddler's colonnade the scribes and money changers had set up for business, along with a hedge wizard, an herb woman, and a pair of spearmen standing guard. A woman was selling freshly baked pies from a small cart, and a woman was offering herring with chopped onions. Chickens and children were everywhere underfoot.

Where two spearmen had always been posted at the Seal gate, there was only one. Arya could tell just by the expression on the guards face that something was wrong. The guards would normally be relaxed; flirting with dockside whores or just plain bored. But this one studied his surroundings intensely; he seemed anxious and nervous. Arya was tempted to ask questions but reframed from doing so, remembering her own predicament.

The wharf was oddly quiet when Arya got there. She noticed another pair of spearmen, walking side by side through the fish market, but they never so much as looked at her. Half the stalls were empty, and it seemed to her that there were fewer ships at dock than she remembered. Out on the open sea, three war galleys moved in formation, blue-green painted hulls splitting the water as their oars rose and fell. Arya watched them for a bit, then began to make her way along the wharf and through the fish market.

One of the few galleys that were still present was taking on some mead. The casks stood four high along the pier. Behind one stack she glimpsed three sailors throwing dice. Farther on the fishwives were crying the day's catch, and a boy was beating time on a drum as a shabby old bear danced in a circle for a ring of river runners.

Arya made her way to Merman's Trident; one of the few taverns that overlooked the port. From there she would sit and watch and eat as ships entered and left White Harbor. There wasn't much else to do but wait and pray. But why was the port so empty? The more she thought about it, the more it made her curious. _Too many war galleys, _she thought, and noticed another three war galleys painted in the colors of House Manderly come into view.

The galleys made a pretty sight but her attention soon turned back to Merman's Trident as it came into view. Old wooden chairs and tables were placed outside so the patrons could eat and drink and gaze at the beauty of the ocean. Arya frequented the tavern often; waiting for a ship bound for Braavos. The food wasn't that bad and the proprietor treated her kindly.

She strolled up a flight of stairs and entered the tavern. The barrel-vaulted ceiling was new and looked clean, the floor made of dark-brown planks, the air smelled of smoke and cooked meat and mead. The skinny tallow candles on the tables gave off more smoke than light, and the watered honeyed wine Arya ordered tasted sweet. Three sailors were seated near the door, drinking. One gave her a grin as she walked outside with the wine. Arya paid no mind to the sweat-smelling men.

Aside from the sailors and proprietor, the tavern was empty which was odd for this time of day. Dozens more people would have usually been at the tavern, drinking and laughing. She took her wine to one of the tables shadowed by a tree and sat facing the ocean. Even though she was only thirteen, Arya took a liking to the wine, but asked for it to be watered so she wouldn't get drunk with just one cup. _Please just arrive today. _The boredom alone was enough to drive anyone insane. For days this had been her routine: sleep, bathe, eat and watch the harbor while sipping at honeyed wine. Arya had already explored most of the city, save the New Castle which was built on a hill inside the city wall. There was nothing else to do but wait. Before long, she found herself staring at the ocean.

As dusk fell, the benches in and out of the Merman's Trident began to fill with sailors and traders. Arya called to the proprietor inside for another cup. When he brought it, he brought her a candle too. "You want food?" the man asked. "We got meat pies."

Arya nodded and paid the man. "Thank you."

Laughter and gossip echoed through the tavern. Once the wine was flowing, seamen were the worst gossips. Hearing tales from near and far was interesting, at least to Arya it was. It wasn't like she had anything better to do but listen.

Most of what she heard she'd learned from days before. The Seven Kingdoms were in turmoil, though none of the sailors seemed to know why; the rumors changed every hour. The most common one was that King Robert Baratheon was dead and some high lord was held captive in King Landing awaiting judgment for treason. The Riverlands were being raided by common brigades and Riverrun had called its banners.

Arya had never been to Riverrun before. But news that Riverrun had called its banners against the threat shocked her. She had yet to meet her uncle Edmure, grandfather Hoster and great uncle, whom they called the blackfish. Arya knew that Winterfell would send aid, should Riverrun have need. _Could it be war? _She thought, then shook her head. It was probably just some outlaws raiding for gain. _I have to focus on finding Jon. _But what if it was war? Arya still remembered the dream she had months ago. The dream where Jon had told her to find him before war erupts. Either way she was going to go to Braavos and find him. "I have to," she muttered to herself.

After a while the drinkers outside started to talk about dragons. "You're bloody mad," said a Westerosi oarsman. "The Beggar King has no dragons. There hasn't been a living dragon in over a century."

"So they tell us," said the old fellow. "Might be they're lying, though. Might be the Beggar Kings got himself a few dragons hidden away. All I know for sure is there's been talk of dragons across the narrow sea."

"I never seen no living dragon," growled the proprietor, who brought out more wine for the sailors and traders. "A fucking fairytale is all it is."

The old fellow made a face and turned away from the proprietor. "Prince Viserys weren't the only dragon, were he? Are we sure they killed Prince Rhaegar's son? A babe, he was."

"Wasn't there some princess too?" asked a whore who sat nearby.

"Two," said the old fellow. "One was Rhaegar's daughter Rhaenys, t'other was his sister."

_"Daenerys,"_ said the oarsmen. "She was named for the Daenerys who wed the Prince of Dorne during the reign of Daeron the Second. I don't know what became of her."

"I do," said the man who'd started all the talk of dragons, a Volantis oarsman in a somber woolen jack. "When we were down to Pentos we moored beside a trader called the _Sloe-Eyed Maid_, and I got to drinking with her captain's steward. He told me a pretty tale about some slip of a girl who had just married a Dothraki horselord. Silver hair and purple eyes the steward claimed."

"Dragons fucking horses," the whore chuckled and the others followed in laughter.

Arya sighed and focused back onto the ocean. The wind was gusting, making the flames shiver in the oil lamps that lit the wharf. It had grown colder since the sun went down, but Arya remembered Winterfell, and how the wind would come screaming off the Walls at night, knifing through even the warmest cloak to freeze a man's blood right in his veins. White Harbor was a warm bath by comparison.

The laughter died when a man came running through the wharf and up the stairs toward Merman's Trident. "Fuck me," the young man said, breathing heavily. "_Fuck. _It's bad, it's really fucking bad!"

All eyes were on the man. Arya turned as well; curious at the reason he was making such a ruckus. The foul mouthed man inhaled deeply and sat in the nearest chair. Arya noticed his hands shake. "Winterfell," he started, "Winterfell has called its banners… all its banners. Robert Baratheon is dead and they say Eddard Stark conspired with the king's brothers to overthrow the new king." The man inhaled once more. "They executed Lord Stark and his lady wife on the front steps of the Great Sept of Baelor."

The crowd went silent and Arya's eyes widened. _No. No, it can't be._ Her heart suddenly tightened and she felt breathless; almost like she had been punched in the gut. "No, it's a lie!" she wanted to scream. But the words coiled around her throat, choking her.

"The Starks oldest, Robb. He marches south with the full force of the north behind him. White Harbor has sent two thousand men to aid the Starks already and is recruiting more." Gasps escaped the mouths of the crowd that formed around the man. "It's going to be war against the fucking south!"

Chairs were thrown and tables toppled. "Lord Stark was an honorable man: honest and just. He and Robert were like brothers, never would he commit treason against Robert," the Westerosi oarsmen said and pulled a dirk from it sheath. "It was murder at the hands of them fucking Lannister cunts." He spat and furiously said, "Vengeance for the Starks."

"Vengeance for the Starks!" the crowd roared.

_"VENGEANCE FOR THE STARKS!" _

**-0-**

"They can't be." Arya couldn't even remember how she could back to her room. Needle was unsheathed and in her hand: knuckles white from gripping it too tight. Blood stained the hilt and trickled down the blade as Arya had swung the slender blade against the beds wooden post. "They can't be dead."

The crimson streak flowing down the blue sheen of steel caught her eye. Arya just stared at the blood before letting Needle fall to the floor. She floundered toward the bed, collapsing and burying her head into the pillow. "_Father, mother…_" she whispered into the pillow, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. She couldn't contain herself anymore. Memories long past flooded every corner of her mind: Jon training in the courtyard with Robb and Theon as Bran and Rickon watched on; her mother scolding her about her unladylike behavior and then her father secretly making it up to her with sweets.

Her heart flooded with despair: Her parents were dead; Jon was gone; Robb was marching south to war with a northern host; Sansa and Bran and Rickon would be left alone at Winterfell believing she was as dead as their parents. It was all too much to bear. She turned over and stared at the wooden ceiling and it was then she felt her eyes glisten as she fought to be strong.

A single tear escaped from Arya's eyes, followed by another one, and another one, until soon, a steady stream of salty tears flowed its way down her pale cheek, releasing the sadness and sorrow that had been held inside of her for so long but still she fought to not make a sound. Arya heard someone let out a heart wrenching wail that was followed by a series of sobs. The voice was so familiar… then it dawned on her that it was her own voice she was hearing. "_No,_" she whispered, her jaw trembling with every sob. _"Please, no…" _

Arya grabbed the second pillow and held it tight to her chest. Loneliness wrapped around her like a blanket; the room had never felt this big before. _I need you, Jon,_ she thought, trying her earnest to forsake the emotions that were tearing her apart. She just wanted to be comforted by him, held in his strong arms, told that everything would be alright. But most of all, she wanted vengeance.

Day followed day, and night followed night, until Arya knew she could not endure a moment longer. She would kill herself rather than stay in that inn any longer and let the pain consume her. She needed to find voyage to Braavos and soon.

When she slept that night, after another fruitless day on the wharf, she dreamt the dragon dream again. Jon was not in it this time. There was only her and the dragon _Skyfyre_. Her scales were black as night, wet and slick with blood. _Her_ own blood, Arya sensed. Her eyes were like the sky, blue and beautiful, and when she opened her mouth, the blue-black flame came roaring out in a hot jet. She could hear it singing to her. She opened her arms to the fire, embraced it, let it swallow her whole, let it cleanse her and temper her and scour her clean. She could feel her flesh sear and blacken and slough away, could feel her blood boil and turn to steam, and yet there was no pain. She felt strong and new and fierce.

And the next day, strangely, she did not seem to hurt quite so much. It was as if the gods had heard her and taken pity. Even the serving girls noticed the change. "Nym," Elenei said, "I'm glad that you're well again." Arya smiled and told her she wouldn't sulk around anymore and asked the girls to prepare a bath. The dragon dream was still vivid, even as the girls scrubbed her pink and clean.

It was as if she could breathe once more. The pain was still there, but not as much. Arya could not bring back the dead, but she could do the next best thing; exact revenge and get justice.

After the warm bath, Arya dressed in fresh smallclothes and relaxed onto the bed and let her mind wander. _Skyfyre, _she thought, finding no answers to why she had been having dreams about the dragon and not her own direwolf. _Could it be a message? _The vivid dream she had many months ago had come true in some parts, even though she had yet to remember the full dream. _"__You must find me, before all hell breaks loose, before the war," _Jon had told her in that dream. Though, if that part was real, could it mean that he has a living dragon? Arya found the thought odd yet strangely comforting. _He has dragon's blood. _A queer smile touched her lips at the thought; they had often talked deep into the night about riding dragons.

Light shone through the shutters and Arya knew she had to get dressed and try her luck once more. The long walk to the wharf had her thinking about Winterfell; she tried to reassure herself that she would still be sad and lonely if she returned. Arya loved her siblings, but yearned to see Jon more, to gaze upon his smile and eyes and have him ruffle her hair while he called her "pretty."She'd tell him, "I missed you," and he'd say it too at the very same moment, the way they always used to say things together. She would have liked that. She would have liked that better than anything.

The wharf outside of the Seal Gate was as busy as it had been before the war. The guards were still less in evidence but the traders and sailors were swarming. Most of the shops and stalls and inns and alehouses around the harbor were open for business.

And there were more ships docked then the day before.

_Three_, thought Arya,_ three new ones_. Two were only river galleys, shallow draft boats made to ply the waters of the White Knife. The third was bigger, a salt sea trader with two banks of oars, a gilded prow, and three tall masts with furled purple sails. Her hull was painted purple too.

Arya walked toward the purple ship to get a better look. A cask of mead was being rolled up the plank when she arrived. When she tried to follow, a sailor up on deck shouted down at her in a tongue she did not know. "I need to see the captain," Arya told him. He only responded with a louder shout. But the commotion drew the attention of a stout grey-haired man in a coat of purple wool. "I am captain of this galleas," he said. "What is your wish? Be quick, child, we have a tide to catch."

"I want to go east, to Braavos. Here, I can pay." She gave him the purse filled with all her wealth.

"Braavos?" The captain spilled out the coin onto his palm and frowned. "Is this all you have?"

_It is not enough_, Arya knew without being told. She could see it on his face. "I wouldn't need a cabin or anything," she said. "I could sleep down in the hold, or..."

"Take her on as cabin girl," said a passing oarsman, a bolt of wool over one shoulder. "She can sleep with me."

Arya ignored the vulgar man and pondered on how much a voyage to Braavos would cost. _I have golden dragons. _Surely it had to be enough. "I could work," she pleaded desperately. "I could scrub the decks. Or I could row..."

"No," he said, "you couldn't." He gave her back her coins. "It would make no difference if you could. Braavos is no place for a child."

"Wait," Arya said suddenly. "I have something else." She had stuffed it down inside her smallclothes to keep it safe, so she had to dig deep to find it, while the oarsmen laughed and the captain lingered with obvious impatience. "One more golden dragon will make no difference, child," he finally said.

"It's not silver." Her fingers closed on it. "It's iron. Here." She pressed it into his hand, the small black iron coin that Jaqen H'ghar had given her, so worn the man whose head it bore had no features. _Please say yes…_

The captain turned it over and blinked at it, then looked at her again. "This... how...?"

_Jaqen said to say the words too_. Arya crossed her arms against her chest. "_Valar morghulis_," she said, as loud as if she'd known what it meant.

"_Valar dohaeris_," he replied, touching his brow with two fingers. "Of _course_ you shall have a cabin on the _Titan's daughter_."

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed! Next chapter will be longer then this and feature my first written battle between Jon's army and that of Toru Minamoto's, the noble clan leader of Izu province.  
**

**Arya's alias will be Nym. Though if you think I should give her a better Alias, comment or pm me about it. **


	16. Chapter 16: Jon

**Here is the sixteenth chapter. **

**Its my longest chapter yet and features my first written battle scene.**

**Hope you enjoy.**

**Chapter 16**

* * *

**Jon**

The bed felt empty once again, though, when had it never? Jon Targaryen seldom slept without the feeling the emptiness, like something was missing. It was like he left a part of himself behind the night he left Winterfell, a part of his soul. Jon remembered the day they had come across the huge direwolf that was slumped in death, a shattered antler lodged deep in its throat. Half-buried in bloodstained snow, ice had formed in its shaggy grey fur, and the faint smell of corruption had clung to it like a woman's perfume.

The litter of newborns had been snuggled next to the carcass, searching for milk. He could still remember how his uncle had agreed with Winterfell's master of horse about killing the pups. _"Better a swift death than a hard one from cold and starvation,"_ Eddard Stark had told them. But Bran had screamed _"no" _in defiance, holding back his tears. Jon liked to think it was because of him that they got to keep the pups. _"There are five pups," _he had told Eddard,_ "three male, two female."_

Jon had seen his uncles face change and how the other men had exchanged glances when he told Eddard how he had five trueborn children, three sons, and two daughters and how the direwolf was the sigil of their House and that they were meant to have the pups.

It was only when Jon was halfway across the bridge that he heard another pup cry out, near the dead direwolf, in nearby bushes. The sixth pup's fur was white, where the rest of the litter was grey. His eyes were as red as the blood on the snow. He had thought it curious that the pup alone would have opened his eyes while the others were still blind.

_Ghost, _Jon thought, missing the warmth of his white fur. He missed the direwolf as much as he missed Arya. Not a day went by when he wasn't lost in thought, thinking about the brown-haired, grey-eyed wild beauty that was Arya Stark. But Ghost was different. Ghost was closer than a lover. Ghost was part of him and he felt different, empty since their separation.

Jon tossed around under the blankets and chuckled to himself. Both Skyfyre and Ghost were part of him, some days he felt like he had birthed the beasts into the world, the thought made him chuckle some more. He opened his eyes and looked around into the darkness of his bedchamber. Skyfyre was snuggled on the layers of fur near the foot of the bed. Jon could hear the shallow breaths of the dragon and took comfort from it. He closed his eyes and hoped to dream of Arya. The dreams he had were all so vivid…

Naked and alone he stood, surrounded by enemies, with stone walls all around him pressing close. _Winterfell_, he knew. He could feel the immense weight of it above his head. He was home. He was home and felt whole.

Around him stood a dozen tall dark figures in cowled robes that hid their faces. In their hands were spears. "Who are you?" he demanded of them. "What business do you have in Winterfell?"

They gave no answer, only prodded him with the points of their spears. He had no choice but to descend. Down a passageway he went, narrow steps carved from rock, down and down. _I must go up_, he told himself. _Up, not down. Why am I going down?_ Below the earth his doom awaited, he knew with the certainty of dream; something dark and terrible lurked there, something that wanted him. Jon tried to stop, but their spears prodded him on. _If only I had a sword, I could fight back_.

The steps ended abruptly on echoing darkness. Jon had the sense of vast space before him. He jerked to a halt, teetering on the edge of nothingness. A spearpoint jabbed him, shoving him into the abyss. He shouted, but the fall was short. He landed on his hands and knees, upon stone and dirt. The only cavern below Winterfell was the crypts, but this one was strange to him. "What place is this?"

"Your place." The voice echoed; it was a hundred voices, a thousand, the voices of all the Starks since Bran the Builder, who'd lived at the dawn of days. But most of all it was his uncle's voice, and beside Lord Eddard stood Arya, pale and beautiful, a torch burning in her hand. Robb was there as well, and Sansa and Bran and Rickon and behind them a dozen more dark shapes with dark hair.

"Arya, why has Lord Eddard brought us here?"

"Us? This is your place, Jon. This is your darkness." Her torch was the only light in the cavern. Her torch was the only light in the world. She turned to go.

"_Stay with me,_" Jon pleaded. "Don't leave me here alone." But they were leaving. "_Don't leave me in the dark!_" Something terrible lived down here. "Give me a sword, at least."

"Those two swords were always meant for you both." Lord Eddard looked at him sadly.

"What do you mean?" Jon looked down and saw a sword at his feet. He crouched and gripped the katana by its hilt. As he raised the sword a finger of pale flame flickered at the point and crept up along the edge, stopping a hand's breath from the hilt. The fire was red and fierce, never had he seen such ferocity in flame, it burned with an orange-red light, like the sun. Crouching, listening, Jon moved in a circle, ready for anything that might come out of the darkness.

From behind came a great noise. Jon whirled toward the sound... but the faint light revealed only Arya, her hands now bound in heavy chains. "You swore you would return," she said stubbornly. "You must keep your word." Naked, she raised her hands to Jon and gestured. "Please, the darkness frightens me."

The steel links parted like silk. "A sword," Arya begged, and there it was, scabbard, belt, and a katana like his, but the color of its hilt was different, it was grey where his was red. She buckled it around her skinny waist. The light was so dim that Jon could scarcely see her, though they stood a scant few feet apart. _Even in this light she is beautiful, _he thought_. _Arya's sword took flame as well. The darkness retreated a little more.

"The flames will burn so long as you live," he heard Sansa call. "When they die, so must you."

Jon didn't know what Sansa meant. "_Please!_" he shouted. "Stay with us. _Stay!_" There was no reply but the soft sound of retreating footsteps.

Arya moved her katana back and forth, watching the flames shift and shimmer. Beneath her feet, a reflection of the burning blade shone on the surface of the flat stone. She was taller then he remembered and as skinny, yet it seemed to Jon that she had more of a woman's shape now. He gazed at her nakedness. _I want her._ He could feel himself growing hard at the thought, and turned away so Arya would not see.

"Do they keep wolves down here?" Arya was moving around, slow and wary, sword to hand; step, turn, and listen. Each step made no sound. "Direwolves? Or dragons? Tell me, Jon. What lives here? What lives in the darkness?"

"Doom." _No direwolves_, he knew. _No dragons_. "Only doom."

In the bright flame of the swords, Arya looked pale and fierce. "I hate this place."

"I do as well." Their blades made a little island of light, but all around them stretched a sea of darkness, unending. "I feel cold."

"Listen." She put a hand on his shoulder, and he trembled at the sudden touch. _She's warm_. "Something comes." Arya lifted her sword to point off to his left. "There."

Jon blinked and she was gone. The sudden absence of her light made him shiver. The cavern was still and dark, until a woman emerged from the shadows and walked slowly to where he stood. "Arya?" he called.

But it was not Arya. The woman was all in grey, almost like a silent sister. A hood and veil concealed her features, but he could see the candles burning in the grey pools of her eyes. "Arya," he said, "are you there?"

"I am not your cousin, Jon." She raised a pale soft hand and pushed her hood back. "Have you forgotten me?"

_Can I forget someone I never knew?_ The words caught in his throat. He _did_ know her, but how could he know someone he had never met before…?

"Will you forget your own father too? I wonder if you will ever know him, truly." Her eyes were grey and dark, her hair brown and long. He could not tell how old she was. _Sixteen,_ he thought_._ She walked to him. "They never knew him like I did. Some still think him a monster that started a war, but oh how little they know... he would of made a great king."

"Who are you?" He had to hear her say it.

"The question is, who are you?"

"This is a dream."

"Is it?" She smiled sadly.

"You're dead… what could it be if not a dream?"

Jon noticed her eyes get teary. "It's true, we all dream of things we cannot have. Rhaegar dreamed that his oldest son would be a great king, his youngest a great knight, that his daughter would never see the horrors of war. He dreamed they would grow to be so strong and brave and beautiful that no one would ever hurt them. But—"

"I am a king," he told her.

A tear rolled down her cheek. "_Are you…? You know nothing,_" the woman whispered and raised her hood again and turned her back on him. Jon called after her, but already she was moving away, her skirt whispering sad lullabies as it brushed across the floor. _Don't leave me,_ he wanted to call, but of course she'd left him long ago.

He woke in darkness, shivering from cold sweat. The large room had grown cold as ice. Jon flung aside the covers. The fire in the hearth had died, he saw, and the large window had blown open. He crossed the chamber to fumble with the shutters. The first light of day was starting to appear over the horizon. _You know nothing, _dawn seemed to whisper.

Skyfyre awoke with a _hiss_ and stretched her limbs. She was already as large as Ghost, and the only way for her to enter the room was through the window, and she barely managed to enter from that way now. When she unfolded her wings, the span was three times her length, each wing a delicate fan of semi-translucent skin, gorgeously colored in blue-black, and stretched taut between long thin bones. One only had to look to see that most of her body was neck, tail, and wing. _Such beauty,_ he thought as Skyfyre made her way to him.

"Do you wish to hunt?" Jon said, crouching and hugging the dragon tight. Her warmth was comforting beyond belief. Skyfyre roared and hissed and Jon took that as a yes. "Only hunt wild animals," he warned her, wondering if she even understood him. He gestured to the open window and watched as she clawed her way up the wall and through the window onto the ground outside. She roared once more, unfolded her wings and took flight. Skyfyre's onyx scales glimmered in the morning light.

Once she was out of view, Jon turned around and gazed at his newly crafted plate armor which hung from an armor stand. It was black and trimmed with red. Dragons and direwolves engraved onto it. The great helm was crafted to resemble a dragons head. He had asked Aeron Darry, an exiled blacksmith from Westeros to make the knight's armor.

After a long sigh, Jon donned the armor, and draped the matching cloak over his shoulder which had his dragon and direwolf emblem embroidered onto it. The day was anew and he had many meetings to attend to. Even if he just wanted to laze around in the warmth of his bed, he was a king and needed to act as such.

The door flung open and Kasumi entered, without bothering to knock. "Your Grace, I bring good news. Mutsu is all ours. With Kiyomori dead, his army has surrounded unconditionally and they have agreed to join us. With them we have around thirty thousand able warriors now." She smiled brightly at the accomplishment.

Even though she wore one of her many colorful kimonos, Jon knew there were dirks and other blades hidden somewhere in her sleeves, and the fact she looked innocent was one of her best weapons against any foes who were stupid enough to try and attack her. Kasumi was quick to learn when it came to swords and could easily slice the best of em, even though she was only fifteen. "Kasumi, that's good news. I know this is your father's home and all, but what have I told you about entering my bedchamber without knocking?" Jon sighed. "I could of have been naked," he jested.

"Your Grace. I-I apologize," She blushed and lowered her head. "I was excited at the news. I didn't think—the armor looks fierce on you by the way," Kasumi said, trying to change the topic.

Jon chuckled at her embarrassment. "By the way, have we captured all of the advisers and high ranking commanders of the late Kiyomori? They need to be punished _accordingly_." Jon would never let those men into his army, nor would his commanders allow it.

Kasumi composed herself as best she could. "Yes, they did try and escape initially but their own men turned on them and handed them over to us in a show of respect and fealty to you. They are all bound in chains and awaiting punishment."

The sunlight warmed his face as he made his way to the open window. Jon smiled. "Good, I shall deal with them today in front of the people." He would swing the sword himself, like his uncle had taught. Jon wanted them to see him as a just king, one that would bring justice to Nihon.

"It is for the best," she said, agreeing that they needed to die.

Jon nodded, turning to face her. "Have you considered my offer to become the first of my Kingsguard? You have the skill to rival the best of our soldiers already, and you just keep getting better. I'd feel safer knowing you were there to protect me." Jon waited for her answer, hoping.

Her lips curved into a smile. "Your Grace… I would love that. But are you sure, I mean I am just a girl after all and the others would surely laugh." There was a tremble in her voice.

Jon frowned. "What does ones sex have to do with skill and prowess? Let them laugh. But I know you could single handily defeat them all. Have more confidence, Kasumi. And I'll take that as a yes."

Before she could reply, an Ashina guard rushed into the room and dropped to one knee before his king. "Your Grace, we just received a raven from Rokuro Koga." The guard held out a parchment in his hand.

"Thank you," Jon said, grabbing and opening the letter. His eyes widened at the sudden news."Follow me," he said, looking at Kasumi, "we must meet with the war council immediately." The news was dire and he needed to inform the others. Jon buckled his katana onto his left hip and picked up the heavy dragon great helm.

The clan leaders and soldiers were all camped outside of Ashina village, beyond the mountains that naturally protected it. They walked with haste through the entwining dirt roads, toward the east mountain pass. The journey was fast and quiet. Behind Jon and Kasumi a dozen guards trailed. He still wasn't comfortable with having so much protection around him all the time, but he knew it was one of the things that came with being king. Sweat rolled down his brow, the walk up and over the mountain pass was always exerting. Upon reaching the top and gazing at the vast land before him, it still managed to leave him in awe as he gazed upon the thousands of tents and pavilions that seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see.

Banners of dragons and wolves fluttered in the wind. _My banners, _he thought, filled with pride while they made their way down the dirt road and into the camp. Jon stood for a moment amidst shouts and curses and the creak of wooden wheels as men erected more tents and pavilions and unloaded supplies from the wagons. Realizing the king was amongst them the soldiers gave way and murmured their respect before kneeling. Jon walked past and nodded at his men.

"Kasumi," he said, glancing at her, "go notify the commanders of my arrival and have them assemble in the war tent." Jon had no time to explain things to her in detail, she would after all learn soon enough as would everyone else.

Even though the large camp was packed with tens of thousands of men, supplies were brought in from the trade port frequently. For now, his army was well supplied and ready for war.

The large pavilion that towered over the rest was Jon's destination. "The war tent," the soldiers had started to call it. As he made his way toward it he past tables and benches that had been raised outside the nearby pavilions, piled high with sweetgrass and strawberries and fresh-baked bread. Men were relaxing and eating after their morning training. On the breast of all the soldiers his emblem was in evidence. Jon's grin disappeared once he entered the war tent, the contents of the letter flooding his mind once more.

The war council was made up of seven clan leaders who without hesitation had pledged their allegiance to Jon Targaryen once they had heard about the Ashina village massacre and how he was reborn in flames: Soga clan, Okura clan, Takamuko clan, Asano clan, Hayashi clan, Kira clan, and the Ashina was grateful to them, without their support the rebellion would have been decimated. He named the seven clan leaders his battle commanders and they would each lead a host into the upcoming battles.

The council soon assembled. All seven of his commanders sat around the long table with Jon at the head. Hastily built hearths warmed the pavilion, and for that he was thankful. The day was cold and the warmth was welcomed. Maps littered the table: Nihon and its provinces labeled, with carved wooden pieces in the shapes of dragons placed on top.

Serving girls brought jugs of wine and plates of hot bread and meat for the commanders and king. Kasumi stood guard behind Jon, without a weapon in her hand, though he knew if the need should arise blades would appear. In her white and black-blue kimono, she looked fragile and helpless, but anyone underestimating her would soon regret.

"Your Grace. Why such haste?" Hiroshi Soga asked, shuffling comfortably into his chair. At first glance he seemed young for a clan leader, but that was just proof of his prowess and skill. Young and attractive, the serving girls mooned over Hiroshi contently. The gleaming scaled armor he wore made his facial features stand out even more: straight nose that fit perfectly with his oval shaped jaw, black silky hair with matching black eyes that everyone in Nihon seemed to share, and a mouth that was made for smiling.

Jon poured himself a cup of Dornish wine and took a sip, savoring the taste. _We march for war, _he thought, rereading the letter in his mind. "The Taira clan is no more. All its soldiers and land are now in our control, that's the good news," he said, sipping at the cup.

"What's the bad news?" The Hand of the King asked. Akira Ashina was seated to Jon's left and looked the part; hair and beard trimmed and respectable, full plate armor with an emblem of a red hand engraved onto its breast made him look fit for the position the king had given him. The blacksmiths of Mutsu had started to craft the knight's armor of Westeros instead of the traditional armor of Nihon that they were used to crafting. Jon Targaryen seemed to influence the region more and more as the months past.

"As you know, Rokuro Koga assassinated Kiyomori Taira just to show me he was loyal to our cause. Last week I sent him on a secret infiltration missions into Izu province, to gather intelligence on our enemies. I didn't inform anyone of his mission, save my most trusted, just to be sure. This morning I received a raven from him. It seems he has managed to infiltrate the Minamoto Noble clan's stronghold." Jon raised the cup to his lips and drank deep. As of late, Jon seemed to have a man's thirst. "He informed me that they plan to gather a host and march on us to take us by surprise." Whispers broke out between the commanders. Jon lifted his hand, silencing them. "We need to march south now. They think they will be able to take us unawares, but we'll turn their plan against them. Rokuro also mentioned that Toru Minamoto plans to march with his host."

Jon passed around the parchment he received from Rokuro Koga.

The King's Hand seemed deep in thought. And when he spoke, everyone listened. "That fool thinks to lead men into battle. Toru has never even seen real battle." Akira glanced down at the large map and studied the roads that lead into Mutsu. "I agree with the king, we must march south." He reread the letter and nodded at his own conclusion. "We kill Toru and Izu is ours."

"I agree with the King's Hand. Killing Toru Minamoto will surely make Izu province bend the knee to us. I doubt they fight out of loyalty," said Daisuke Okura. His laughter roared through the pavilion. Out of the seven, Daisuke always seemed to laugh the loudest and longest, even in times of peril. Tall, stout and fiercely bearded, he was the strongest of the bunch when it came to raw strength.

Katsuo Asano sighed at his lack of self-control. "Daisuke, you fool. This is no time for laughter. We must plan for the attack. If I remember correctly the Minamoto army numbers around twenty five thousand." He sighed once more as Daisuke burst into laughter. For a second Jon thought the clean-shaven, clear-eyed and muscled Katsuo would draw his blade and silence the noise.

"Do not worry, Katsuo," Kenji Takamuko reassured. "Toru is an intelligent man, once he sees the dragon and our forces, I am sure he will bend the knee in fear." Kenji looked down at the letter in his hands. "Even if he doesn't, I doubt his men will stay and fight, they will run to us and beg to join our rebellion once they see our prowess on the field." Jon had come to respect Kenji: tall and powerfully made, with jet-black hair that fell to his shoulders and framed a clean-shaven face, and laughing black eyes that matched his armor, making him look fierce and wild.

Jon nodded and hoped it to be so. "We do have thirty thousand able warriors at the moment." He chewed on some of the hot bread the serving girls had brought. The warmth and taste made his mouth water even more. Swallowing the bite he said, "even if they do surrender, I will have Toru Minamoto, his advisers, and high ranking commanders put to the sword—"

"Your Grace, speaking of that, what shall be done with the Taira captives?" Nabu Hayashi interrupted, looking at Jon intently. At six and a half feet tall, he towered over lesser men, and when he donned his armor, he became a veritable giant. Though, Jon had come to know the gentleness of Nabu, who the men named "the Giant of Wolfsbane" for when he had consumed enough of the poison flower as a child to kill a grown man thrice over.

Jon had pondered the thought intensely; there was only one option and he knew what needed to be done. "I shall have them publicly executed today. I must show everyone that leaders who massacre innocents and those who help them cannot escape the king's justice."

"I can arrange the execution right away, Your Grace. I'll have my own men carry out the sentences," Hiroshi said, nodding earnestly in agreement with the punishment.

"_The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword," _Lord Eddard had taught him and he would not disappoint. "I will be the one to carry out their punishment. My uncle had told me once that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword and take responsibility for his own decisions." All seven commanders smiled and nodded, impressed by their kings determination.

"Rightfully so," Akira agreed. "Kasumi," he said, glaring over Jon's shoulder to where she stood guard, as if he had just realized she was present. "Why are you in here? Wait outside."

He had almost forgotten to inform them of his decision regarding his Kingsguard. Jon grinned. "I almost forgot. Kasumi Ashina is officially the first of my Kingsguard, my sworn shield that will protect me from harm." The pavilion went quiet. "I don't want any protests. She is a prodigy when it comes to kenjutsu and battle tactics. I dare say she could defeat all your best warriors."

Kasumi blushed at his comment, but still remained quiet.

The commanders gazed at each other. "Your Grace, we trust your judgment," said Hayato Kira quietly. Solemn and soft-voiced, Jon rarely heard the man speak, save for necessity. But loyal he was, and orders he followed, so his quietness was rarely an issue. He and the other six commanders stood and bowed toward Kasumi in recognition.

Jon gestured at the men to sit. "Now that that's out of the way, we need to formulate a battle plan." He was confident they would be victorious against Toru. They did after all have more men and the raw determination to prevail. "The smaller clans in Izu will probably join us once we march south against Toru. I'll send a raven to those clans that sent me letters of fealty when we began the rebellion. Perhaps they will be able to help us defeat the Minamoto clan."

All seven commanders nodded at the suggestion.

"Hiroshi, Hayato and Daisuke will be leading the vanguard with myself. Akira and Kenji will guard the mid while Nabu and Katsuo the rear. I will be distributing the former Taira soldiers around, so treat them kindly and with respect. And remember, most of them only served Kiyomori out of fear." Jon rose from his seat and put on his dragon great helm. "Commanders, prepare your men and supplies, we march south after the executions."

**-0-**

Dusk was almost upon them by the time they neared their destination. Tens of thousands of men followed the vanguard. Banners of dragons encircling direwolves held high and as far as the eye could see. The seven day journey left Jon's thighs chafed and aching. What he would give to go into battle rather than spend another day on his black destrier. He sighed uncomfortably and shifted his weight in an attempt to relieve the pain. His armor weighed him down heavily and his horse would be aching from the weight. "Sweet lady," he whispered, leaning over and rubbing the horse's crest. "Just a little longer."

The scenery all around them was breath taking: cherry blossoms and other trees which Jon didn't recognize were plentiful. Small stone houses were scattered along the long winding road. The Silk Road that connected all four provinces was the main road for travel; the widest and easiest for an army to march upon. _The fasted method, _Jon mused.

It had taken the better half of a day to convince his commanders that him leading the vanguard would be advantageous for them. _"I won't stay behind my army like a coward," _He had told them. _"They will fight harder and stronger and longer knowing their king is beside them amongst the fire and blood." _A true king would lead his men into battle and Jon would do just that.

The Hand of the King galloped past Jon's personal guard and came to a halt alongside him. "Your Grace, the scouts have arrived," he said.

Jon nodded and looked over to Kasumi who had journeyed alongside him for the past week. "Hopefully they brought good news." He brought his hand up to signal his army to gradually come to a stop. No horns were allowed to be used until the battle commenced, so hand gestures were used to give commands from a distance.

Eight of his best scouts galloped toward him, breaking into a trot as they neared. They lined up in a row in front of Jon and Kasumi. A lean muscular man with a strong jaw, hooked nose and hair that was as black as night dismounted and stepped forward dropping to one knee. "Your Grace, we have spotted the enemies vanguard. They are currently setting up pavilions in an open area around the Silk Road, most likely to rest since nightfall is upon us," the captain of the scouts said. He pointed over toward the hill that was down the dirt road. "They are over that hill. I count at least four thousand Minamoto soldiers, judging by the size of the encampment."

A smile washed over Jon. The gods must have been watching over him, such an opportunity couldn't be missed. He gazed at the hill, pondering. "We'll wait till midnight then approach and take them by surprise, and hopefully this way we can minimize casualties on our side." Jon rubbed his brow, nursing a headache. "Kasumi, go tell Hiroshi, Hayato and Daisuke that they will each split up into groups of five hundred. I want Hiroshi to go around and attack from the west, while Daisuke will go around and attack from the east, and Hayato will come with me when we attack from the north. Tell them that when they see fire erupting in the enemy encampment, that's the signal to attack."

He was confident at the plan. They would attack at midnight, in the cover of darkness. The majority of them would be sleeping, he hoped at least. Jon knew that they would not expect an attack at the dead of night, not when they believed themselves to be the ones marching upon an unsuspecting enemy.

She nodded at his plan, and when Jon glanced at her, he found it odd that the plate armor engraved with his emblem she was wearing suited her better than the silk gowns she mostly wore. "I shall inform them immediately," Kasumi said and galloped off to do her duty, her white-and-black Kingsguard cloak fluttering in the wind.

He turned his attention back to the eight scouts. "You and you." he pointed randomly. "Go tell the mid and rear commanders to stand ready. We plan to attack at midnight, and tell them that if we should fail they are to march at once and end it fast." Both scouts nodded and trotted off. "The rest of you go around and tell the men of our plan, I want everyone to be ready by midnight."

"Shall be done, Your Grace," the captain of the scouts said. The remaining six bowed their heads in respect and trotted toward the tens of thousands of soldiers that marched behind the King of the Rising Sun.

The vanguard commanders soon arrived with Kasumi leading them. "Your Grace, this plan shall work," Daisuke said with a chuckle. They came to a halt near Jon's destrier. "Though, how do you plan to start a fire in the enemy camp?" Curiosity was evident in his voice.

Jon pointed at the sky. "Skyfyre will start the fire. Since the darkness is her natural camouflage, I doubt they will see her coming. She will fly in and out before they even notice what's happening. Other than that simple task, I won't have her fight. She's still too young and her scales aren't strong enough to defend against arrows."

"Your Grace. We have tens of thousands of men behind us, why only use five hundred for the surprise attack?" Hiroshi Soga asked.

At first glance it would seem strange to send one thousand five hundred against an enemy vanguard of four thousand, but Jon knew it didn't matter as they had the advantage already. "The enemy has set up camp around the Silk Road, where there is a large open area, accommodating to the numbers of their vanguard. A clutter of trees surrounds the east and west, and if I was to send any more than five hundred into them, the noise alone would arouse suspicion. We will strike from three sides and end this fast before they know what's going on. Their numbers won't matter when we have the element of surprise."

"A good plan, Your Grace." Hayato sounded impressed and the other two commanders nodded in agreement.

"Our main objective will be to kill the commanders and kill Toru if he is present. They won't see us coming so we'll use that to our advantage," Jon said. _There she is,_ he thought, glancing up. Skyfyre was flying through the clouds. The onyx dragon was almost impossible to see when she flew so high at night, but Jon eyes seemed to have gotten much better since he rose from the flames.

"Your Grace." Jon glanced down from the sky and looked at Hayato as he spoke. "If Toru falls, the enemies mid and rear will bend the knee in submission, I'm sure of it. We are after all trying to liberate them from the Noble's rule. They will lay down their swords if they have any common sense," he said confident.

"Let's hope," Jon said. It would be the best outcome of this battle. He closed his eyes and thought of Arya. _I won't die, _he told himself. He wasn't as nervous as he thought he would be. Thoughts of Arya gave him courage and strength; he remembered his promise once again. He glanced around, looking at each of his commanders battle-hardened faces. "Commanders get your men ready. Take up your positions and wait for the signal." The sky had darkened and in a few hours they would taste battle. _I won't die. _He raised his hand and signaled his host of five hundred to move forward and take up their positions at the foot of the hill.

Had the hours ever past so slowly? Jon sat on his destrier feeling the wind caress his face, waiting. The stars glittered brightly, though it wouldn't hinder their plans, they only needed the cover of darkness to get close and initiate the attack. He felt his breath coming faster and faster, a knot of fear coiled in his belly like a cold black worm, and the feeling of the need to empty his bladder and bowls was the strongest he had felt. Jon feared he would shame himself in battle, feared he would forget all his training when the time came. He yearned to be a hero but deep down inside he feared he would be a craven.

All his fears and hopes disappeared when his horse almost threw him off as Skyfyre suddenly landed in front of them. The nearby horses screamed and squealed so loud that Jon feared the enemy would hear. The riders did their utmost to calm the scared horses with sweat words and caresses. Hundreds of men had hands clasped to hilts, just in case the enemy came running over the hill. But no one came.

"Skyfyre," he said, dismounting from the destrier and walking to her. "Beautiful girl." Jon crouched and rubbed her scaled serpentine neck. Sky-blue eyes regarded him silently. "I need your help," he whispered to her. "There is a large pavilion just over the hill, the largest. It should be easy to spot. I need you to burn it with everything you got and fly away back here straight away." Jon didn't know if she understood, or if she even could but for some reason he felt like she could. Skyfyre nudged her head against his chest and _hissed, _pale smoke rose before his face like a veil. _She understands, _he thought.

Thrice he kissed the top of Skyfyre's unnaturally warm head, then hugged the black dragon tight. "Stay safe," he whispered and let go, watching as she unfolded her wings and took flight.

The time had come. Mounting his destrier once more he turned to Hayato. "Get ready, we attack soon." Jon trotted up the hill so he could get a clear view of the enemy. _Good, _he thought. Fires lined around their encampment, but no spikes or pits, a fatal mistake, but he thanked them for it anyway. The enemy seemed unaware and there was only a few dozen sentries standing guard around the camp of four thousand. _Another mistake, _he mused.

Since the majority of the enemy was asleep, it meant none of their scouts had spotted the advance of his other two hosts. Jon had ordered his archers to discreetly take care of any scouts that ventured to close. His heart pounded; this would be the first battle he took part in and he was leading the charge. _Arya, _he thought, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. When his eyes opened he saw a line of bright orange fire shoot downward from the darkness. Jon could see a feint tint of blue-and-black inside the orange flames, it was beautiful. Within seconds the largest pavilion burst aflame. Even from that distance, he heard the screams of burning men.

Jon put on his black-and-red dragon helm that matched his armor and unsheathed his katana, then raised it toward the stars. Time slowed around him, the sound of his heart the only noise. One more deep breath and a quick thought of Arya, then he pointed the sword toward the unsuspecting camp.

Within seconds Jon Targaryens host of five hundred was on the move, with him leading the charge. Hiroshi's and Daisuke's hosts also began their advance from the east and west. Jon's host was armed with swords, lances and bows; armored in leather, mail and plate and more than half were on heavy horses. The other two hosts left their horses behind and relied on their swords and bows. He knew his own host would taste first blood.

Banners of dragons and wolves fluttered fiercely in the wind as they galloped closer. Hundreds and hundreds of unarmored and confused enemy soldiers stumbled out of the tents and pavilions, half asleep. And only when they realized they were under attack did they shout and panic and call for the whole camp to rise as they reached for nearby weapons and attempted to form a defense. Jon glanced up and saw fire arrows fly overhead. Some hit their mark, dozens of soldiers fell screaming and tents started to burn.

Jon raised his hand and gestured at the riders to blow the warhorns. And when they did, a dozen more responded from the east and west. This must have startled the Minamoto soldiers as their heads kept glancing left and right, not sure of where the attacks were coming from.

"_The Dragon King!_"

Shouts erupted as they neared the confused enemy.

"_The King of the Rising Sun!_"

Warhorns were blowing all around, loud and brazen. _They're going to break, _Jon thought. They knew that as well as he did; the sound of the warhorns sent the soldiers running in confusion, some toward the fighting in the east and west, others away. Drums were beating as the Minamoto soldiers ran to form squares and lines, but they were too late, too disorganized, too slow. Three great columns of heavy horses with Jon leading smashed into the spearmen that failed to form a proper defense.

Blood splattered his helm and armor as he slashed and slashed through the swelling numbers of confused and frightened men that awoke to the fighting and stumbled into the raging battle. Sweat rolled down his face, the dragon helm suffocating, but removing it wasn't an option. He grunted as he raised his sword with his aching right hand and held the reigns of his horse with his left. The armor weighed him down heavily and each slash sent hot pain through his arm.

Across the camp Skyfyre flew low and fast and bathed tents, pavilions and men in her dragon flame. And when he saw her amidst the fighting, fear coursed through him, it would only take one arrow to kill her. "_Skyfyre!_" Jon shouted, but his voice was washed over by the sounds of warhorns, drums, steel clashing and men screaming.

To the southeast two columns of Daisuke's host fought their way deeper into the camp. Another smashed into the flank of spearmen as they desperately tried to turn them. Hiroshi's host was having more difficulty as they were still fighting on the outskirts of the camp. _They need help, _Jon thought, pushing aside his fear for his dragon. Hayato and Kasumi were by his side, just as bloodied as he was. Jon pointed toward the southwest and told them, "we need to help them."

His commander nodded and screamed at the men to split up and fight their way through to aid Hiroshi. Jon knew that an attack from behind would be enough for Hiroshi to break through the ranks of spearmen and bowmen that kept them at bay. The bowmen that stood behind Jon's host had switched to swords and joined the fray, working their way toward the west flank with Hayato Kira leading them.

Kasumi refused to leave his side. She killed thrice the number he did, and Jon remembered why he had chosen her to be the first of his Kingsguard.

The tents were too packed together for the heavy horses to ride through in formation. Jon dismounted from his destrier and his men followed. Even though the enemy had three times the numbers, Jon's army was cutting through them like butter. They needed to end this fast before the rest of the Minamoto army that was miles behind got word.

"Push through!" Jon commanded. "_Push through!_"

Each breath stung, his sword arm ached and cold sweat trickled down his body, but he kept slashing his way through. Smoke started to fill the air, most likely due to Skyfyre's flame. _We're winning, _he thought as he cut down a boy who was not much older than himself.

More and more men were pouring from the trees in the west flank. A blaze of his banners flew above them, the wind whipping them wildly. Hiroshi must have broken through the defenses that held them back as hundreds of his host rushed into the burning camp.

All around he saw bands of Minamoto soldiers trying to stand and fight, but Jon's men washed right over them. The Minamoto clan still had the numbers, but it wasn't making a difference. In the thickest part of the fray, Jon saw Hayato standing tall in his stirrups. His Black-and-red commander's cloak with the dragon and direwolf emblem made him easy to pick out. He had his bloodied sword raised and men were rallying to him when a wedge of enemy soldiers smashed into them with spear and sword. Hayato's destrier went up on her hind legs, kicking, and a spear took her through the breast. Then the steel tide washed over him.

Skyfyre dipped low and flame erupted from her mouth, bathing the soldiers that had overrun Hayato Kira, his solemn and quiet commander. Jon looked away, knowing he was dead. He stood amidst the smoke and flame, blood dripping from his sword. If not for his full plate armor and his Kingsguard, Jon knew he would have died from one of the many slashes that they protected him from. _It's done_, Jon thought, _they're broken_. The Minamoto soldiers were running, throwing down their weapons, all their lines had broken. Tents and pavilions were burning and high above Skyfyre flew in circles, roaring louder than he had ever thought possible. The fires were leaping from tent to tent and some of the tall trees on the outskirts of the encampment were going up as well.

The warhorns blew once again, and the name the men cried was his.

"_Jon Targaryen! Jon Targaryen! JON TARGARYEN!_"

* * *

**Hope you liked the battle and original character introductions.**

**Follow if you enjoyed and stay tuned for my next chapter.**


	17. Chapter 17:White Lotus of the Kingsguard

**Here is chapter 17. Another POV from one of my original characters. **

**Hope you enjoy this chapter.**

**Chapter 17**

* * *

** White Lotus of the Kingsguard**

Kasumi drew a deep breath as she stood guard outside the king's tent, the scent of freshly fallen rain still lingered in the air. Dawn was a breathtaking display of radiant colors: bright streaks of red, pink and orange slowly overcoming the dark-blue and purple of the twilight sky. During the night a fine, delicate autumn rain had fallen, leaving the morning sky looking crisp and clean while the earth wet and muddy. The rising sun shone warm, soon to bake the earth dry. In the trees the birds sang, oblivious to the carnage that had taken place all those hours ago.

The small flutter in her chest still remained. The battle had lasted shy of an hour. Kasumi had not expected such a fast victory, though it was welcomed nonetheless. Bloodlust had been strong during the fighting and little of the Minamoto vanguard had survived the onslaught, save the cowardly ones who hid. Her own bloodlust had surprised her, but did her best to pay it no mind till the battle was done and won, lest the thoughts distract. Even now Kasumi can't remember how many had been slain by her own hand.

She flexed her trembling sword hand, trying to calm herself. Kasumi hadn't shamed herself in her first battle, for that she was thankful and for managing to protect the king from any serious harm. It was a shame that the pristine beauty of the Silk Road had been transformed into a funeral pyre of blood, ash and death. The Minamoto vanguard had picked the perfect plain to raise their encampment; spacious enough for all the tents and pavilions needed for their vanguard. But their overconfidence in believing themselves stealthy and the lack of preparation led them to ruin. Before the battle Kasumi had been next to the king, overlooking the encampment from the hill to the north that hid their advance. The camp was poorly defended; no spikes or pits, barely enough sentries patrolling. _If only the remaining noble clans are this overconfident and unprepared. The battles would be quick and swift, _she mused, flexing her hand once more.

The largest of the pavilions that was erected in the middle of the enemy camp had been the first to burn to ashes, along with Toru Minamoto and his most trusted commanders who were within. Without their leader and commanders to give proper orders the enemy vanguard, despite having thrice the numbers, broke within the hour and was smashed without mercy. Throughout the battle she saw the black dragon's flame descend upon the unorganized ranks of armored and unarmored spearmen and swordsmen. Kasumi knew the presence of Skyfyre was a major factor in the victory, and hoped it would be in the future battles as well.

Kasumi stifled a grin, remembering how the Minamoto men had stumbled out of the tents half naked and half asleep. The battle had already begun on three sides and none of them had enough time to don their armor. Not that it would have made any difference, perhaps extend the battle by a few hours. _What's done is done._ _Don't let one victory make you to overconfident, _she told herself, focusing back to her task at hand.

Their own encampment was half a dozen miles back north. There were no hills here, but the king's white fur tent had been raised on a spot of high stony ground near the edge of the trees half a mile from the Silk Road. Spikes and pits were set up around the thousands of tents and pavilions that stretched back for miles. Hundreds of sentries stood guard on the outskirts. Everyone was on alert, prepared for an attack from the south. News of Toru Minamoto's death would have reached the rest of his army by now and whether they would continue the fight or bend the knee was yet to be seen. But they were prepared, either way.

As the first of Jon Targaryen's Kingsguard, it was her duty to protect the king. Kasumi stood guard outside the white tent, hand clenched around the hilt of her katana, observing her surroundings. The king was inside with his commanders, planning their next move. Even though they were amid their own men, she was still wary. Tens of thousands were camped along the Silk Road and there were bound to be a few spies, even assassins. _Let them come, _she thought, _they'll die at my feet._

Kasumi was so absorbed in her observation that she didn't notice as one by one the commanders departed from the tent. Only when her father tapped her shoulder was she pulled from her concentration. "Kasumi, His Grace wishes your presence." She glanced over to Akira and nodded.

It was warm within. A small fire burned beneath the smoke holes, and a brazier smouldered near the pile of furs where Skyfyre lay, black and beautiful. The king's most loyal commander whom they called "the Giant of Wolfsbane" was feeding the dragon cooked meat. _Nabu_ _Hayashi_, Kasumi remembered. "Your Grace." Kasumi took a knee.

Jon Targaryen looked at her with dark lilac eyes. "Rise. Come and sit." He wasn't wearing his knight's armor; cuts and bruises were evident on his arms and linen bandaged torso. The king was tall and slender and handsome, with black curls and a trimmed beard. Kasumi was still in awe over his eyes. Before the fire, she clearly remembered them being dark grey. She knew it would be a question where there would be no plausible answers.

The king sat at the head of a long table with maps and candles on top. He gestured for her to sit. "What would you have of me?" she asked, complying and sitting to his right. The warmth of the tent was soothing. Kasumi rubbed her eyes and forced the thoughts of sleep out. The battle had left her tired and aching and sleep would be welcomed, but for now she had a duty.

"The riders we sent to treat with the remaining commanders of the late Toru Minamoto should arrive soon." Jon licked his lips. "Or not. Either way we will have our answer. We have more numbers than them, yet if we fight… our numbers will dwindle. We took them unawares once, it won't happen again." He furrowed his brow, looking over the map once more. "The rebellion will rise or fall, depending on their answer."

Kasumi knew that should the Toru's remaining host stand defiant and insist on battle both sides would have casualties in the thousands. The king and his commanders fear was that both the Fujiwara and Tachibana Noble clans would join forces and march north, which would be the most sensible thing to do once they got word of the Dragon Kings march south. In order to stand against both combined armies, he needed the avoid battle and have the leaderless Minamoto host bend the knee.

"They will bend or break," the Giant of Wolfsbane said, offering the last of the meat to Skyfyre. "We will win, should it come to battle." He also took a seat near the king. "Their war is done and lost. They must surely see that."

"Perhaps," Jon said, pouring himself water from the flagon next to the map. "I can't fault them should they draw their swords and try to avenge their fallen lord. But should they fight, it is the people of Nihon who will be the ones to suffer while the noble clan's continue their brutal reign." The king spoke as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

_We thrust our hopes of freedom onto the shoulder of a foreigner, _Kasumi thought. Even from afar anyone could tell that Jon Targaryen was from a foreign land. Jet-black hair and eyes were dominant in Nihon and any other colors were met with suspicion and sometimes hostility. And now they followed this dark-brown haired king who had the eyes of dragons of old. Tales of Valyria were known throughout Nihon, even Aegon the Conquers conquest of Westeros and the rise of the Targaryen Dynasty. _He'll free us and create something new, something better, a world worth living in._

"We fight for the people," Nabu offered, "what do those bloody nobles fight for?"

Fighting against Toru's remaining host would ruin the rebellion's chance at defeating the other two noble clans and she could not let that happen. To come this far to only fail would be tragic. "Perhaps if we showed them the dragon," Kasumi said, pondering the outcomes of such an action, "they might see the sense in joining us." It was the best she could offer. She still could no fathom why they would choose to resist, Toru was dead and gone and Jon offered freedom and peace. "They will bend, they have to…"

Jon yawned and stretched. "Talking won't change much. All that's left to do is to wait for their response," he said, glancing over to Skyfyre then back at Kasumi. "You know what the men are starting to call you." He grinned and crossed his arms waiting for her response.

_Nothing bad, _she thought, _I hope. _Kasumi thought back to the battle, trying to remember if she had done something to earn her whatever title they had given her. "Tell me," she said eagerly, when her thoughts yielded no answers. Both Jon and Nabu laughed. "Tell me!" Her voice rose much too high and she flushed from the sudden outburst. She puffed her cheeks when they wouldn't stop laughing. "You made me your Kingsguard for a reason, Jon Targaryen." Kasumi tapped the pommel of her sword and glaring at them both. They stifled their laughs and smiled instead.

"The men were impressed by your skill on the battlefield," Jon said. "If they had any doubts about you becoming my first Kingsguard, you shamed them with your actions in battle." He gave her grin and looked over to Nabu. "Her skill with swords makes the men jealous."

"Aye, Your Grace." Nabu chuckled. "A few more years filled with battle and I dare say she will become one of the best swordsmen Nihon has seen in centuries."

Kasumi flushed again and tried to keep her composure. "Did you just call me inside to make me blush?" Kasumi glared at them with her cheeks puffed, and this time Jon was the one to blush.

"No," he shook his head, cheeks as red as summerwine. "It's cold outside… and your council is welcomed."

_He blushes like a maid._ It was no surprise, he has only ever loved one girl and Kasumi didn't think he would ever love another. She remembered how red Jon's cheeks turned when he had told her about Arya Stark and how he would make her his queen. _His loyal to her, he won't lay with anyone but her. _He refused every whore his commanders sent to warm his bed and she respected that about him. Kasumi wasn't jealous; in fact she was glad he had someone special in his heart. To her, Jon was the brother she never had and she just wanted him to be happy.

"What do the men call me?" Kasumi asked firmly, the curiosity was too much.

"The White Lotus," Jon said.

"White lotus?" She was familiar with the rare flower that bloomed in spring, high atop the mountains that surrounded Ashina village. "Why would they call me that?"

"During the battle, your white cloaked remained mostly unbloodied," Jon told her.

The Giant of Wolfsbane nodded. Even though he was taller than most and built like a bull, Nabu Hayashi had a gentleness that made Kasumi feel safe. "The lotus flower represents strength and purity. It grows unsullied through the muddy waters atop mountains, and when the battle was done and your cloak remained almost white… they thought of the lotus flower," Nabu said. "It's a good name for a warrior of the Kingsguard."

Kasumi did like it. All the best warriors had tittles, and now she had one as well.

For a moment, the war, the blood, the death disappeared from her thoughts and she felt at peace, happy amongst friends. That was until the Hand of the King entered the tent and dropped to one knee before them. "Your Grace, the riders have returned." A smile washed over Akira Ashina's face. "They have bent the knee and sworn fealty to you. Izu province is ours, along with its remaining military strength."

Jon relaxed back into his chair and sighed. "I would meet with their commanders and reward them." All the tension in the room was gone. The rebellion would go on. Kasumi relaxed as well, rubbing her weary eyes.

"Your Grace," Akira said, "the former commanders have split their forces. Half remains here with us while the other half has tuned south and made for Izu's capital, Dawn."

"Dawn?" Nabu asked.

Akira glanced at him and nodded. He looked at Jon and said, "they tell me that Toru left his most staunch supporters in the city when he departed north. The commanders assure me that they will be able to gain access to the city and deal with the problem before we arrive."

Kasumi hadn't thought of that before. Dawn was the largest city in Nihon and its walls where the thickest and strongest. _Of course he'd leave his most loyal to defend the city. _"Father," Kasumi said, "can we trust them?" Never in Nihon's history had the city fallen to an enemy. It would take months, if not years to starve the city out, time in which they did not have.

The King's Hand glanced at her and shrugged. "They have no cause to betray us now. We made it clear that they would be amply rewarded should they bend the knee to , they will enter the city and deal with the loyalist before we arrive." He sounded confident and in turn she did to. "Once the city is ours, we will be able to mount an invasion into Kai province.

Jon's smile agreed with Akira's words. "Akira, Nabu. Send word to the men. Tell them the Minamoto clan has fallen and that Izu is ours. The former Minamoto soldiers are now our own men and should be respected as much. I want everyone packed and ready for the march south. We have a city to claim."

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**Hope you enjoyed the read and stay tuned for the next chapter.**


	18. Chapter 18: Arya

**Here is my next chapter. **

**Enjoy the read.**

**Chapter 17**

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** Arya**

The Titan of Braavos had seemed a god in the distance. The sun shone above his shoulders, illuminating the Titan gracefully, and continued to rise higher into the sky the closer the _Titan's daughter_ neared. From a distance Arya had thought it just a normal statue, no bigger than the one she saw in White Harbor, but as the galleas drove closer to where the breakers smashed against the ridgeline the Titan grew larger still.

_We are going to row beneath the Titan's legs. _His legs bestrode the gap, one foot planted firmly on each mountain, his shoulders towering tall above the jagged crests. The statue was colored in faded blacks and greens and golds, carved from solid stone, the same black granite as the short circular pillars on which he stood. Carved armor made the Titan look fierce and defiant. Around his hips he wore an armored skirt of greenish bronze. Breastplate and crested halfhelm was bronze as well. His blowing hair was made of hempen ropes dyed green, and huge fires burned in the caves that were his eyes. One hand rested atop the ridge to his left, while the other thrust up into the air, clasping the hilt of a broken sword.

Memories of Old Nan's stories flooded her mind: Jon, Robb, Sansa and the rest would sit on chairs and listen keenly as she told them of the Titan back in Winterfell. He was a giant as tall as a mountain, and whenever Braavos stood in danger he would wake with fire in his eyes, his rocky limbs grinding and groaning as he waded out into the sea to smash the enemies. _He doesn't look scary, _she told herself.

Then the Titan roared.

A terrible sound it was, as huge and menacing as he was, so loud it drowned out even the captain's voice. Arya flinched until she saw that the nearby sailors were laughing." The Titan warns the Arsenal of our coming, that is all," Denyo Terys, the captain's youngest son shouted. "You must not be afraid, Nym."

"I am _not_ afraid," Arya shouted back. _It was just loud, _she would have added, but she was still in awe over the Titan. She couldn't believe anyone could build such a massive statue.

As they passed between its legs, she kept one hand on Needle, brushing the ball of her thumb across the sword's smooth pommel. Her hope was that Jon would be in Braavos, she just wanted to see him again… but life was cruel, she had learned that lesson in White Harbor when she heard the news of her parent's executions. Weeks on the narrow sea left her with nothing to do but dwell on past memories. Robb was marching south, and part of her still ached at the thought that he was, not only mourning their parent's death, but her own. _No, he won't give up on me, _she thought, _he will believe I am still alive. _Arya felt selfish, but what could she do? It wasn't like her being there would somehow turn the tides in the war. _Robb will win and make them pay._

And then they were past the Titan's legs.

The galleas moved through the large lagoon. Ahead rose a sea mont, a knob of rock that pushed up from the water like a spiked fist, its stony battlements bristling with scorpions, spitfires, and trebuchets. "The Arsenal of Braavos," Denyo said, tapping her on the shoulder and pulling her from a trance. Arya glance at the twelve-year-old, then back out onto the lagoon, dozens of war galleys were tied up at quays and perched on launching slips. Should the hunter's horn blow, many more war galleys would appear to defend Braavos.

Two galleys had come out to meet them. They seemed to skim upon the water like dragonflies, their pale oars flashing. Arya heard the captain shouting to them and their own captains shouting back, but she did not understand the words. A great horn sounded. The galleys passed to either side of them, so close that she could hear the muffled sound of drums from within their purple hulls.

Then the galleys were behind them, and the Arsenal as well. Only now did she see the city rise as they neared the port. _The hundred isles of Braavos in the sea, _Arya thought, trying to remember the lessons Maester Luwin had taught them about Braavos, but she had forgotten much of what he said.

The deck creaked behind them. Arya turned to find Denyo's father looming over them in his long captain's coat of purple wool. Captain Ternesio Terys wore no whiskers and kept his grey hair cut short and neat, framing his square, windburnt face. "Our voyage is at an end," the captain told Arya. "We make for the Chequy Port, where the Sealord's customs officers will come aboard to inspect our holds, but there is no need for you to wait upon their pleasure. Gather your belongings. I shall lower a boat, and Yorko will put you ashore."

This was what she was waiting for. Arya nodded and walked to her cabin. She only had few belongings to begin with. Only the clothes she was wearing, her little pouch of coins, the gifts the crew had given her, and Needle.

The boat was ready by the time she was packed and back on the deck. Yorko Terys was already in the small boat waiting for her. The _Titan's Daughter _dwindled in their wake, while the city grew larger with every stroke of Yorko's oars. A harbor was visible off to her right, piers and quays crowded with big-bellied whalers, swan ships, and more galleys than she could count. Another harbor, more distant, was off to her left, beyond a sinking point of land where the tops of half-drowned buildings thrust themselves above the water. Arya had never seen so many big buildings all together in one place.

The city had seemed like one big island from where the Titan stood, but as Yorko rowed them closer she saw that it was many small islands close together, linked by arched stone bridges that spanned innumerable canals. Statues and temples were plentifully along the canals, it amazed her, she asked about each one and Yorko would answer in his queer accent. They went around many bends and beneath many bridges. Until, on their left appeared a rocky knoll with a windowless temple of dark grey stone at its top. A flight of stone steps led from its doors down to a covered dock.

"Here I leave you." Yorko said, positioning the boat near stone pilings. He grasped an iron ring set to hold them for a moment. Arya pulled herself up onto the dock. "You know my name," he said from the boat.

_"Yorko Terys."_

_"Valar dohaeris."_ He pushed off with his oar and drifted back off into the deeper water. Arya watched him row back the way they'd come, until he vanished in the shadows of the bridge. She turned and studied the temple. She could almost hear the beating of her heart. _I am a wolf, and wolves are strong and fearless. _She grabbed the hilt of Needle and ran up the steps, two at a time.

At the top she found a set of carved wooden doors twelve feet high. The left-hand door was made of weirwood pale as bone, the right of gleaming ebony. In their center was a carved moon face; ebony on the weirwood side, weirwood on the ebony. The look of it reminded her somehow of the heart tree in the godswood at Winterfell. _The doors are watching me,_ she thought. She pushed upon both doors at once with the flat of her hands, but neither one would budge. "Let me in, you—"

Arya didn't have a chance to scream. An arm grabbed her from behind, covering her mouth with a dry callused hand. Arya struggled, but the arms were too strong. _No, _she thought, _let me go! _She screamed into the hand, hoping that someone could hear and help.

"Quiet down," the man holding her said harshly. "Must I hurt you?"

Her heart pounded painfully. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind, most of which made her squirm harder. _Needle. _The sudden thought sent hope rushing through her, she grabbed for the sword, her last salvation, but when she felt the empty scabbard, her heart sank into oblivion.

"Is this the one?" Arya was picked up and spun around. "Is this the Stark bitch?"

"Aye, could be," a voice observed.

In her relentless struggling and squirming, Arya only now noticed the two men standing before her. _They know who I am. _Fear grew like a sapling, and continued to grow the more she thought of her predicament. _They'll take me back to Westeros, _she thought, _to the Lannisters. _

The older one observed her keenly. He was clean-shaved, with a lined ascetic face. His hair had been pulled back and tied in a knot behind his head. "Griff, is she the one the spider wrote about?" He turned to his taller companion. "Arya Stark?"

Griff's cloak was made from the hide and head of a red wolf of the Rhoyne. Under the pelt he wore brown leather stiffened with iron rings. His clean-shaved face was leathery too, with wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. His hair was blue and unnatural, he had red roots and redder eyebrows. At his hip hung a sword and dagger, and Needle held firmly in his hand. Griff looked her over and nodded. "Dark hair, grey eyes. She has the Stark look, it's her. A spitting image of Lyanna Stark," he said and brought his hand to his temple to rub a sudden ache. "Seven save us, Haldon." He turned to his older companion. "It's Rhaegar and Lyanna all over again."

_Rhaegar Targaryen, _Arya thought, _why are they talking about Jon's parents_. The more they talked the more curious and scared she got. "Let me go," she screamed into the hand. "My name is Nym, not Arya!" Her voice was muffled and they seemed not to care about her squirming and muted screaming.

"Once the usurper learns that his older brother lives, he will surely see the sense in laying down his crown, especially now that we have her. From what Varys wrote, his in love with this she-wolf," Griff said and glanced over Arya. "Ser Rolly, gag the girl and bind her hands. We must depart for Pentos. We've been away from the princeling for far too long. The cheesemonger is dull company at best and Lady Lemore can only do so much to keep the prince occupied."

Arya glared at them in frustration and anger, they talked and ignored her like she wasn't even there. _What usurper? What crown? What prince? _She didn't know what to think. _Only Jon is in love with me. What in the seven hells are they talking about. _Arya was confused, and in her pondering, she missed her chance to scream when the callused hand moved away and was replaced by sweet smelling cloth. Sweat rolled down her brow and cheeks, arms and legs ached from all the squirming. For the first time, she truly felt how weak she really was.

Once she was gagged and bound, Arya got a good look at the man they called Ser Rolly. He was a tall and brawny man with a shaggy beard and a shock of orange hair. "The cheesemonger's galley awaits our pleasure, Griff," Ser Rolly said as he hoisted her up over his shoulder. Arya ceased all her struggling, it was no use. "We should take a boat to the galley, lest people inquire about our bound wolf."

Griff nodded and turned to walk down the steps. "Bring her."

A tear escaped Arya's eye as she watched the black and white doors to the temple move farther and farther away. _They were going to teach me to change my face like Jaqen, _she thought, frustrated at being so close yet having it snatched away… just like how her parents were taken away. _Jon, help me. _But Arya knew he wouldn't be able to save her, not when he believed she was still at Winterfell. She closed her eyes and bit her lip and let the tears flow. _It's not fair._

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**Hope you enjoyed and don't forget to follow or Fav. **

**I took a different direction then I originally planned. I had wrote 8-10 more Pov chapters already, but at the rate I was going, I was re-writing them anyway (adding more descriptions and whatnot) so I decided to change course and go with this. I wanna show how far Jon will go for Arya ;D **

**I won't be writing an Aegon Pov until I finish this story (I'd Burn This World For You, will be like book 1 in this AU setting) Then if people want me to continue the story, I will start "Book 2" which I plan to name "A Fire Reborn." In the continuation I will have Aegon, Dany, and other new Pov's including original characters. So for all those who had read the chapters I had written last year, everything from now on is new. Enjoy.  
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